Waiting for Lilian

I watched a strange video about childbirth and raising girls, then promptly received an eerie phone call by which an ominous voice whispered, . . . "seven days!"

One of the great joys for parents during pregnancy is choosing names. Of course, this can also be a source of great conflict, but it is one of the (very few) things about which Marianne and I did not conflict. We knew the baby's gender early in the pregnancy so boy name ideas including Julius, William, David Jr., Octavian, and others were discarded. We needed a girl's name - something that was pretty and unique without being pretentious. (I still laugh at all the idiotic parents in the nineties and early millennium who thought they were giving their children unique and avante-garde names that just ended up proving to be uncreative, common, and trendy. North Americans between the ages of 5 and fifteen certainly don't need anymore Cody's, Dayton's, Dakota's, Hanna's, Britney's, or Brianna's. Forthcoming is an apology to my beloved sister.) I had been infatuated with the name 'Starla' for an interlude during the pregnancy, but Marianne never quite warmed up to it and it lost its cache quickly. I suggested 'Cleopatra', a name I have always liked but that gets overlooked because of the strong historical connotations attached to it. Marianne summarily rejected it. She suggested 'Yvonne', her mother's name. Rejected. I offered 'Cassandra'. Rejected. Jokingly, she put forth 'Jennifer'. "Ha-ha. No!" But I did suggest that I liked its progenitor, 'Guinevere'. Nope. Marianne suggested something else that was awful. Denied. "How about Barb?" Rejected. Clearly we both needed to take pause and rejuvenate the mental lists we had each carried for years to include newer options about which we might both agree. Something to emulate mommy. "How about Marianne Jr.", I suggested. Obviously that was rejected. Marianne became reflective, hesitant, submissive as though she was wary of offering an emotionally precious gem that had been long kept close to her heart for fear of its rejection. She meekly chirped, "I've always liked the name Lily."
"Well then how about Lilianne? We can spell it as one word with an 'i' like you spell your name." Ever so slowly, a smile gently widened across her face into that all-telling grin she has. I smiled knowingly back. We agreed.

A few days later, however, I discovered that to Marianne the decision had not been quite so final as I had thought. I was relieved because as the few days had past I began to have second thoughts. I liked the name, and its association with Marianne's name, but there was something too . . . cumbersome about it. I then set about the task of maintaining the original beauty and maternal associations of the name while modifying it to something less cumbersome, more tripping and lively, and that Marianne would accept. Then it dawned on me - so simple, so obvious. "How about Lilian instead of Lilianne?" Marianne's eyes lit up and she smiled even bigger than the first time as she confirmed, "YES! That's it!"

It was perfect: simple, pretty, relatively rare nowadays (I think), unpretentious and with real meaning. Marianne likes it because her paternal grandmother's sister (ie. her great aunt) was named Lilian. I like it for its historical gothic associations. The earliest extant literary mention of the name is in The Epic of Gilgamesh from ancient Mesopotamia. "The figure of Lilith first appeared in a class of wind and storm demons or spirits as Lilitu, in Sumer, circa 4000 BC. Many scholars place the origin of the phonetic name "Lilith" at somewhere around 700 BC despite post-dating even to the time of Moses. Lilith appears as a night demon in Jewish lore", but they would modify the phonetics of 'Lilith' to 'Lilin', which would later evolve into 'Lilian' as an accepted derivative. As such, the name has a beautiful sublime gothic association to night and wind. Subsequent myths demonize the character even further. She became the Queen of the Damned, and for all intents and purposes, Satan's wife. That is why she appears as a female serpent coiled around a tree in Michelangelo's "The Temptation of Adam and Eve" on the cieling of the Sistine Chapel. "In the folk tradition that arose in the early Middle Ages, Lilith, a dominant female demon, became identified with Asmodeus, King of Demons, as his queen." Perhaps using the Queen of Demons as a namesake for the offspring of Marianne Johnston and myself is a fitting moniker.

I like the name Lilian. It has a Ring to it - (lol). Lilian Yvonne (Marianne's mother) Katherine (my passed sister and variant spelling of the name of my birth mother) Christopher. She'll be here in seven days. Marianne is vehement that she'll be here in seven days, or less! The pregnancy has not been easy for her. Her all-day 'morning' sickness lasted for months and she was an angry, emotional basket case. In her vast generosity, she did everything in her power to share that suffering with the rest of the family. But she's gotten past most of that now. Nevertheless, nine months is a long time to carry an ever-increasing weight, and for the fourth time. She jokingly told me the other day that the first thing she was going to do after the baby was born is put it down. We anticipate the birth excitedly, . . . and nervously. Seven kids is a lot for one household and I am wary. I have been having a lot of difficulty getting my mind around the word 'daughter'. I've raised boys. I understand boys. I've been a boy and know the rules. The whole male heir, father ego, Freudian thing was well taken care of for me three times over, and I was familiar and comfortable with it. This whole vagina-estrogen thing comes with a plethora of concerns and future scenarios about which I am either naive or completely unaware and for which I am wholly unprepared. Marianne was hoping for a girl and made no secret of it. I told her that I wanted a boy and played up the whole male-ego-gender-heir idea just to be the devil's advocate, but I really hadn't thought about gender. The shock of 'pregnant' was enough and I was still working on that. That's why I was so surprised that I was so surprised when the technician doing the ultrasound said "It's a girl." I must have looked like I was in some kind of shock in the van on the way home because Marianne repeatedly asked me if I was okay, if I was mad, if I was unhappy that it was a girl. Of course, she made all of these inquiries through a telling grin that clearly indicated that she was just happy she had 'won'. The truth is I am happy for a girl. I had always wanted a daughter and, with three sons in tow already, thought I never would. But here I am, seven days away from being a father again, and the father of a daughter. I am scared. Okay, I am VERY scared. But I am excited too, and happy. For a guy who expected to be six feet under by now, of late I am finding many things in my life anew. And I am about to start over again. In seven days. Or less.

See you in hell,
Shakes.