Berea Abigail

sweet, baby girl...
i write to you in lower-case so as not to wake you. i will admit this is as much for my sake as it is for yours. you are adorably, peacefully sleeping at breast-level right now, on the "Boppy," a name for the type of pillow we breastfeeding mothers use these days. Apparently, you have lost a sock in the tussle of bringing my rocker w/ you and me in it over to the computer desk. you're wearing only a onesie along with this one sock and little pink baby-gap hat cocked lower toward one eye-brow, gangster style :) Your face is truly beautiful--both pale and pink at the same time--the color is indescribable but I could describe the texture by saying that its so satin-esque that it reflects light as if you were dusted w/ white-gold eyeshadow in all your crevaces. I noticed it very much on your neck yesterday.

this particular letter was supposed to tell you the story of your name. I couldn't resist starting by telling you how beautiful you are, though.

On the Saturday after you were born, around 7pm, your father and I decided you were Berea Abigail. You were born the Friday before at 8:31 p.m. That is another story entirely and not one I feel you should hear as my premier words to you, at least recorded. Many have been spoken over you in your short, 22 days of life, but the one that has seemed to make you smile the most is simply "Berea." So we will start there.

On the ride to the hospital, 42.6 curvy, lurching 40-mile-an-hour miles of breath-holding and squeezing the shirt handles above the seat, your Father and I both considered the name Berea. Without telling the other. So, on Saturday, after poring over our lists and the Name Your Baby book, I just threw it out there: "I considered the name Berea on the way here...you know, like the Berean church?" and your dad said, "I thought of that too, on the way here..." So. That's how you were named. Simple as that. We love it and think it sounds pretty, too, but the truth is, The Holy Spirit of God named you. How cool is that? And as for, Abigail, here's how that went...although we had pretty much settled on Berea, without saying it, we weren't sure yet of your middle name. I have consistently liked "A" names. Your dad said "Abigail" kept catching his eye in the Name Your Baby book the nurses had lent us (after you were born). This book said the meaning of Abigail is "My Father is Joy" and once I read that, I knew that was to be your name. And the reason is linked to an entirely different scripture, which I felt during my pregnancy, was the scripture God spoke strongest to me concerning you: Zephaniah 3:17.
I felt God spoke that concerning you every time I heard the verse, whether being sung or read. Your Father knew you, knew you were even a daughter, before we did. We actually didn't find out you were a girl until February 4, two days before you were born! We, meaning your dad, wanted to be surprised. Or so WE thought :). But on that day, your dad finally got off work in order to come with me to our prenatal visit and during the ultrasound, I looked at him and asked if he had any questions for the nice lady and he said, "We can find out." I was ecstatic and then absolutely giddy when we learned you were to be our daughter. Our first daughter. Gone were my fears of comparing you with your brother, whether I'd love you the same as I'd loved him, whether I would take you for granted since I'd experienced such sweetness with him. The Lord knew I needed someone completely Other to mother and delight in. The other reason I loved naming you Abigail was that it was apparent that your dad was absolutely in love with you from the moment I saw him with you. With Anderson, he cried, and I believe it was a deep, satisfying sentence he spoke when he said, "IT's A BOY!" but when you were born, he just couldn't stop smiling. He handed you to me but was more than ready when it was his turn again. I had been holding you with him hovering above and when I finally thought to ask him if he wanted to hold you, he said, "Well, yeah! I just didn't want to take her from you." He is holding you now as a matter of fact. This afternoon, we were all out at a restaurant and I needed him to hold you a minute while I got settled in to breastfeed you while we were there. When he handed you to me, your eyes remained locked to his face, your mouth making a sweet "ooooo" and he, again, couldn't stop smiling. It's a smile reserved just for you--I don't think I've even won such vulnerable happiness that he shares with you. You've brought such delight to our family, to your family, Berea. Even your little 17 month old brother can't get enough of you. He calls you B-rah. He wants to come find you as soon as he wakes up in the morning. I change his diaper and then he sits up and starts pointing into the living room, saying B-rah?? B-rah??? and then runs into the living room looking for you. When he arrives he points, and eventually lays his rather large head somewhere on your tiny little body. He's actually picked you up once, which I am ashamed to admit. I was washing a dish or something and left him watching Winnie the Pooh and came in to him picking you up, looking rather guilty. He promptly dropped you when he saw me (not the effect I was going for) but I couldn't blame him because I had involutarily screamed at him the moment I arrived on the scene. You were unharmed, although you let us know how unhappy you were with being handled by a One-Year old. I promise I've been a much more vigilant mother since then :) I love you so and look forward to recounting many more of my observations of you...