I kind of nodded, very confused, but before I could question her she was gone. Then church started. And the announcements. During which prayers were asked for our family and 'Baby Sam.' My husband and I looked around for this Sam baby.
When I went downstairs to get Sarah and Violet, another lady rubbed my belly and told me how glad she was that we were doing well. How she, too had been praying for Baby Sam. "Who is Baby Sam?" I asked? Violet was skipping by us and called over her shoulder, "Mooom!! Sam! The baby in your belly!"
The name 'Sam,' for a girl or boy had never been in the running. However, two of our friends had just given birth, and can you guess what their babies were named? Yup! Sam.
So I spent the next 2 months thanking people at church for their prayers for myself and Baby Sam, then explaining that Sam was not going to be the baby's name.
Then John was born. We named him a very special family name, (his 6th Great grandfather signed the Declaration of Independance. John Hart. You can read his name right there on it!) the nurses labeled his little card, put that little baby lo-jack on my wrist and his belly button. Then it would be time to feed him and the nurses would bring him to me. My eyes would light up at the sight of my new baby. My son. I'd reach for him eagerly. Call to him, cooing his special name.
"Oh, come see Mommy, Sam."
For two days. For two solid days I called my son by the name Sam because of Violet. And it freaked the nurses out every time. They'd snatch him back, retreat across the room to lay him safely down, away from the deranged woman who was trying to steal babies. Slowly approach to check my bracelet. Then their eyes would go wide as they realized that I was not trying to steal babies, I simply did not know my own child's name.
Welcome the world,