Thursday, September 06, 2012

Quinn Theodore

His tummy may only be the size of a marble, but he quite happily fills it every hour. It's like I'm his own personal soda fountain. :)

Today the Quinnster is 5 days old.  Wow.  We got home from the hospital yesterday and cut off all our ID bands, but I still feel like I'm wearing mine.  We had a good evening at home, though a bit loud and crazy to say the least.  My awesome aunt Karen not only fed us delicious dinner last night, she cooked it at our house so it would be warm.  Thank you so much Karen!  The big boys took turns holding the baby boy in between mom feeding said baby boy non-stop all evening.  Dad, who is so tired but can't catch a break busied himself taking care of all of us while also trying to watch a little opening day NFL football.

Our first night home, as with the first night home with any new baby, was crazy.  Lots of crying and pacing the house and diapering and confusion.  It really has been so long since we've had a baby that it's all a bit daunting.  Compounded by the fact that I need a step-stool to get in and out of my bed and to do pretty much anything is super hard, let's just say the mom and dad in this house are exhausted.  But, I suppose it's the best kind of exhaustion so we'll take it.

But, I digress because our first night home isn't what this blog post is going to be about.  This post is to have much more meaning than simply complaining about midnight feedings.

I know that there are a million and one reasons why people give the names they do to their children.  For me in particular however, it is very important that my children have names of significance.  That their names tell a story, their family history, and that their names are something they can be proud of.

Elliott Moyle is named after my pioneer ancestor John Rowe Moyle.  This amazing man worked on the stone carving of the Salt Lake Temple for over 20 years.  He lived in Alpine, Utah, and every week walked  44 miles round trip to Salt Lake to donate his time and talents and halfway through his service, he got kicked by the family cow, had to have his leg amputated, carved himself a wooden leg and as soon as he was ready started that 22 mile walk again.

William Wyatt is named after a rich history of family members.  The name William goes back generations in both mine and Ross' families, but there were a few important William's that stood out.  My Grandpa Petersen (who died in a car accident when my dad was 12) was William DeWayne.  Ross' grandpa who passed away in June was William Tupper.  My brother is William Karl.  The Chick, like Elliott, has a lot to live up to.

In April, when we found out that baby number 3 was going to be a boy, we decided that his middle name would be Theodore.  Theodore is Ross' Grandpa Ted.  For a while we thought about using it as a first name and calling the baby Theo or Teddy but it just never sounded quite right.  We did though, want to pay tribute to Ross' Grandpa Ted.  He is such a good man, and loves Ross and our boys so much that it just made sense.

Visiting family.

As I wrote several times on this silly blog though, coming up with a first name for baby boy number three was more than a challenge.  In the last few months we literally batted around hundreds of names, never being able to find anything that sounded right.  A few months ago I had a strong prompting that I needed to name this baby something that would be significant to my Grandma.  I knew that, even though she is in heaven watching over us, she was the number one reason that this little boy would be joining our family and that in many ways, he belonged to her and she was gifting him to me.  But, when your grandma's name is Geraldine it doesn't leave you with a whole lot to work with.

So, we struggled.  I went through generations of my grandma's family history looking for something that stood out to me, that would mean something to her and found nothing.  I wrote my grandma's full name down on a piece of paper and then pulled out every name I could find amongst the letters.  Still nothing.  Then I did what I always do.  I gave up.

This baby just wasn't going to have a name.

Then in July, in one of our late night conversations, the only kind we ever get to have any more, Ross made a name suggestion.

He said, "What do you think about Quinn?"

I started to cry.  Quinn is my sister's middle name.  Haley Quinn is the name that my grandma gave to my sister the day she was born.  In my sister's words:

Most all of my cousins have family names from a past on relative as either their first or middle names. I don't. I wasn't named FOR anyone, but instead I have the privilege of being named BY my Grandma. I think my mom and dad just didn't know what to do with me from day 1, so they looked to my Grandma and she said Haley Quinn. And that was that. I'm not sure the significance of Haley or Quinn or if it even matters because my grandma has always called me "HQ."

I couldn't think of a better or more fitting way to remember my grandma than through my sister's middle name.  Though we weren't sold on it initially, and we threw it on the back burner time and time again, it ended up being the only name that worked.  The only name that fit.  And, on Sunday morning, the only name that was his.  And over the last five days, every time I hold this little baby in my arms, I think of my grandma, and all that she did to get him here.  And, you know, because I love my sister a lot, too.

One stop on the way home. To say thank you.

It was only fitting then, on the way home from the hospital yesterday that Ross, Quinn and I made one quick stop, to place some flowers at my grandma's grave.  I don't know if there are any more baby boys in my future, but it sure brings a peace to my heart knowing how special each one is, and how lucky I am to have my boys.

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