Both of my girls have a unique to them name. Although on the surface, Ashleigh’s name may appear common and popular her name is actually a reflection of Scott and me. Scott’s middle name and mine were combined to form her name. She is as close to a “junior” as we will get. And it was easy to decide on her name; equal bits of names from both of us signifying that she was ours. We made her and we would love her unconditionally forever.
Cyra’s name was a little more complicated. You see, I was convinced she was a boy. I didn’t want to find out the gender when I was pregnant and even though I told the sonogram technician I didn’t want to know, she exclaimed in the middle of the scan, “Well, I can’t get a good shot, but I’d say 80% likely for a girl.”
I was mad. I didn’t want to know number one and number two, I was having a boy. It was clear in all aspects of the pregnancy: A boy name was easy to decide on. I carried all in the front like a basketball. Every thing felt different from when I carried Ashleigh. How could I not be carrying a boy?
In any case, once the technician said what she did, I knew I needed to have a back-up name. Just in case. I spent hours in Barnes & Nobles looking through baby name books. Ashleigh and I would sit in the kids section and while would play with the train I would call out different names to her.
“Nope.” She pushed the train along the track.
She shook her head, blonde hair flipping.
On and on this went, week after week. With the due date looming I was becoming quite anxious about names. I knew that, if it was a girl, then the middle name would be after my maternal grandmother. All the while, every time I talked to Scott (at the time he was driving over the road), I would throw names at him as well. Each one shot down succinctly.
“What about Jamie.” I asked at the end of September once again sitting with Ashleigh in B&N.
“Hmm.” Ashleigh raised her head a bit from the trains. “I like that.”
“Really?” I replied. “Okay. I like it a bit too. Let’s keep that in mind.” And I continued to flip through the pages of a baby name book I hadn’t gone through yet.
A few minutes later, as I was flipping through the Cs again, I noticed a small four letter name I had never heard of before: Cyra. This book listed it as being the feminine version of Cyrus meaning “lord.” I supposed, as I looked at it, that it could be pronounced with a hard C so it sounded like “kyra” but “Cyrus” is pronounced with a soft C and I preferred the softer C anyway. So when I pronounced it, it sounded like “seara,”
“Hey, Ashleigh,” I called, “What do you think of Cyra?”
Ashleigh stopped jamming the train into a building and looked up at me. “Say it again?” she asked.
Ashleigh blinked, walked over to me and sat by my side. “Cyra.” She repeated and put her little hand on my belly. “Yes. That’s my sister’s name.”