Jenny by any other name... is still my Jenny

Today is my daughter's birthday.  Jenny is 28.  From the very first, this child followed her own path. 

It was June 14, 1984, in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, around 9 p.m. when my water broke.  I just barely had arrived home from work at the local newspaper.  My contribution to the next day's paper was done, so co-workers encouraged me to leave early.  They knew it was my last day before maternity leave, and I must have looked a mess.  I had been working extra hard, preparing for my long leave.  All that extra stuff you have to do before handing off duties.  I remember feeling drained and not at all prepared for Baby No. 2.  Which is why I so brilliantly decided to take my leave a week before my due date.  Jenny must have taken that as her cue to come knocking.

I recall with clarity the moment my water broke.  I was upstairs getting ready for bed.  The tiny second floor of our house contained two small bedrooms and a bathroom.  Both rooms had slanted ceilings like an attic.  Square footage of the entire house was less than 1,000, including the basement.  I was moving quietly because 2-year-old Andrea was asleep in one of the rooms.  I was on the upstairs landing moving from bathroom to my bedroom when my water broke.  It took a couple of seconds to really process what was happening before I hollared for Paul.

I will spare you the details of the delivery.  You're welcome.  I can tell you that it took about 12 hours after she was born for me to recover enough to hold Jenny and really get a good look at her.  She was perfect.  Olive complexion, ruby lips, soft black baby hair, eyes not quite ready to take in the outside world, yet curious.   

My perfect baby was missing just one thing: A name.  Back in the dark ages one did not know gender before delivery.  We had the boy's name picked out, which I've forgotten.  But we had not yet agreed on a girl's name.

Paul wanted Samantha.  When Andrea was born, that's the name he wanted but I didn't.  So I promised him he could have that name for our next girl.  I broke that promise even though I like the name.  I just wasn't feeling it for my second daughter.  Horrible of me, I know.

I suggested Genevieve and we call her Genny for short.  Paul nixed that, but we were getting closer.  How about Jennifer, Paul asked.  A fine name.  But I didn't want Jennifer.  I was stuck on Genny.  How about Jenny?  Hmmmm.  Day 2 my baby finally had a name: Jenny Lynn Stickney.  On Day 4 of her life, we took her home.

It didn't matter that the room she shared with her sister was not ready.  It didn't matter that she came home to a family already calibrated to suit a 2-year-old's energy.  She would soon change that by injecting her own wondrous energy into the family dynamic.  And so she has for the past 28 years been a positive force in our family, incalculably enriching all our lives.

Happy birthday my dearest.

PS. Of course our child who follows her own path has since changed that name we struggled so to come up with.  She married Michael Cole six years ago and took his surname, but also dropped her middle name Lynn to make her own surname a middle name.  So she is Jenny Stickney Cole.  I like it.  It suits her and she doesn't even get mad or correct me when I slip and call her Jenny Lynn....did I mention she's 28 today?