Did you know the average youngin’ says Mommy anywhere between twenty and two hundred times a day?
I did…and I didn’t even need to read that statistic to know, because I lived it for years.
Back in 2012, I was called on at least three times that amount daily. Jon, my hubby, was overseas in Afghanistan, contracting with the military, and I was at home with our own two boys, Jack and Nate, and my nephew, Tukker, (whom we had temporary custody of) all alone.
Three boys, ages four, five, and six, spent each day looking for guidance, directions, answers, permission, validation…you name it…and would almost always start their questions or statements with either Mommy or Ah-Ah (my nickname for Aunt Alisha).
It would begin when they woke up in the morning, and would end sometime in the middle of the night, when one or more of the boys would sneak into my room and request to sleep on Jon’s side of the bed with me.
Usually, I allowed it. After all, with Jon halfway across the world, it was just me in my king-sized bed, and one of my favorite things to do was (and still is) cuddling with my babies at night.
So, it wasn’t unusual when I awoke to the sound of a little person calling out to me at the foot of my bed late one evening.
“Mommy?” The little voice cut the darkness.
I wasn’t sure if it was Jack, my five year old, or Nate, my four year old, but I groggily and dutifully answered, “What bud?”
Silence…
I sat up and strained to focus my sleepy gaze on the child-sized silhouette standing at the end of the bed.
“Bud?” I said again, still not sure which boy was in the room.
As my eyes began to adjust to the darkness, my heart rate doubled, then tripled in speed.
Something was off. At first, I thought it was Jack standing there, but the child I was looking at was taller than him, a little older, and she was a girl. She must’ve been about eight or so, with long hair and rounder cheeks, and while she looked a lot like Jack, there was no mistaking, she was someone else entirely.
Adrenaline crashed down on my chest. I couldn’t think straight, didn’t know who this child was or how she got into my house, and it terrified me. I jumped up and clicked on the ceiling fan light, but she had vanished.
Needless to say, I didn’t get much sleep that night, and for the next few days, I slept with a light on!
About a week or so later, I crawled into bed after a long day with the boys, and as I was saying my nightly prayers, heard once again…
“Mommy?”
This time, it was more of a question…like she was asking if I was there, if I could hear her.
With my heart racing, I quickly prayed, “Heavenly Father, you know me. I don’t do ghosts. I don’t want to see any spirits, even if they’re good. So make this go away!”
All of a sudden, almost as if she was right next to my ear, I heard again, in a whispered tone, “Mommy?”
Instantly, I began to cry, and my prayer changed.
“Ok, Heavenly Father, if this is a good spirit, please help me to not be afraid.”
Before I could finish, peace washed over me, and I knew…I mean I really KNEW in every fiber of my being…this little girl was mine, and she was just waiting to be born.
The next day, when I Skyped with Jon, I told him what happened and let him know we were supposed to have a little girl. Jon, however, wasn’t convinced. In fact, he probably thought I was off my rocker. He was completely against it and wouldn’t even entertain the idea of a third child.
I decided to let it go, knowing it was a moot point anyway because he was going to be in Afghanistan for a while, so there was no use arguing. I did my best to push it out of my mind, convincing myself that maybe I was wrong—maybe I dreamed the whole thing.
Days later, God removed all doubt from my mind on whether it was real or not.
I was standing in the kitchen, doing dishes, when Nate walked in the house from the backyard with his hands in cupping shape. He gently tiptoed towards me, careful not to disturb whatever frog or lizard I was sure he had brought inside.
“Nathaniel Grant! Whatever you have in your hands, you better bring it back outside right now!” My voice boomed.
Rather than turn around, he snapped one finger in front of his lips, shushing me, and said with all seriousness, “Shhh! My baby sister’s sleeping!”
Welp, Heavenly Father knew that was all I needed. From then on, I promised I would fight for this unborn little girl, no matter what.
Months later, after returning home for good from Afghanistan, the conversation was brought back up. Jon still didn’t want another baby, but I wasn’t willing to go against what I knew God wanted. I had no intention of tricking Jon, but I also made it very clear that if he didn’t want another baby, he was the one who was going to need to prevent me from getting pregnant. I wasn’t going to take birth control anymore, so the pressure was on him to figure out how to avoid a third baby.
Jon, being an all-or-nothing kind of guy, decided a vasectomy was the only answer. When he told me he was going to make an appointment, I was devastated. I didn’t know what to do, so I left it in God’s hands.
During many prayers, I told God, “I’m here, I’m willing. I know there’s a little girl waiting on us, but I don’t know how to convince Jon. So, You’re gonna need to step in, God. And fast!”
After one of my prayers, a small thought came to my mind. Jon’s logical, and if I want to extend the window of opportunity to get pregnant at all, I need to speak logically to him.
Because he had just returned with his former company, we had a thirty day waiting period before insurance kicked in. It had already been a week or so, so really, what would it hurt to postpone the appointment a few more weeks until we had insurance? It would save us a few hundred bucks.
He thought it was a great idea, until a few weeks later when those two little pink lines appeared in the window of the pregnancy test.
I knew instantly we were having a girl, and I knew I wanted her name to be Grace.
For some reason, that name was popping up in the most random places. I would dream about it, see it on signs, hear it in movies, read it in a book…it wasn’t even that popular a name at the time, yet, I couldn’t get it out of my head.
I tried getting Jon to help me decide on a middle name, but he refused to talk baby names until we could confirm the gender. For four months, I offered suggestions, and for four months, he blew me off.
Not gonna lie. I was a bit sensitive to the fact that my unborn daughter didn’t have a name yet. It wasn’t just the normal reasons that bugged me. It was because I didn’t have a name for the first few weeks of my life.
Yup.
No name when I was born. No name for weeks after the fact. Why?
Because my parents couldn’t agree on one. Back in those days, you had to just wait to find out if you were having a boy or girl until they were born. But even still, most people would pick a name for each gender.
My parents, however, refused to compromise. My mom wanted Allie, and my dad wanted Lisa. But dad thought mom’s choice was dumb because it reminded him of an alley cat. Mom thought dad’s suggestion was dumb because it was the name of an ex-girlfriend of his.
So I was just known as “the Schuchard baby” until I went for a check up. When the nurse found out I didn’t have a name, she offered her own suggestion, “Why not name her after the midwife who delivered her?”
No offense to anyone, but thank goodness they didn’t take that advice! I honestly don’t know if I could’ve pulled off Eunice my whole life lol!
Her second suggestion was more welcomed. “You could combine the two somehow? Allie and Lisa. What about…Alisha?”
They liked it, and so Alisha Marie was the name I was given. Unfortunately, my dad couldn’t remember it, and for the longest time would always ask my mom, “What’s that baby’s name again?”
I kid you not.
So, yeah, I had a little anxiety about the need for my daughter to have a name.
Finally, the day came to confirm that I was right, and Jon was wrong. We had the ultrasound done and sure enough, the baby was a girl. When we got home, I plopped the laptop down in front of him, the list of girl names starting with the letter A already up on the screen, and told him, “Find one. You don’t get to do anything else until we have a middle name for this baby. It just has to fit with Grace.”
Roughly a minute later, he said, “What about Alaura?”
“Alaura?” I let the name roll off my tongue. At first, I had no idea how it was spelled. In my mind, all I could see was Allure-a. “I dunno, sounds like an exotic dancer. Alluuurrreee-ahhh.”
“Not, not like alluring,” he said, rolling his eyes, “Like Laura, with an A.”
“Alaura….Grace Alaura Coakley.” Tingles, not grand or overwhelming, but they were there. “I like it. I don’t know if I love it. But it’s a possibility.”
For days, I tried the name over and over, but couldn’t commit. It felt right and wrong all at the same time. When I brought it up to Jon, he suggested we flip the two.
Now, I’m not saying I’m stubborn, per se, but I definitely don’t like changing my mind when I’ve been set on something for a long time, and I had been set on Grace for months!
I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t switch the names. So I dug my heels in and kept trying to get used to Grace Alaura Coakley. Hours later, while I was in the shower still mulling over this name in my head, I had a feeling.
Just say it the other way, out loud.
So I did. And instantly the spirit washed over me, and in late February of 2013, we welcomed Alaura Grace Coakley to the world.
We were all wrapped around her little finger from the day she was born…yes, even Jon! I swear, I don’t think she spent more than a few minutes tops not being held by someone. She was a ham for attention, and we loved cheesing it up for her. The funny thing was, rather than just calling her by her first name all the time, we almost always used her first and middle names together. That is, when we weren’t calling her our “teeny tiny chicken nugget girl.” She truly made our family feel complete.
Now, I told you all that for a few reasons:
1. It’s a pretty cool story about me being right and Jon being wrong.
And 2. So I can tell you these next two short memories that make me smile.
From the day my babies were born, I made it a point to sing to them at night before bed. As they grew, they would pick songs that we’d sing together.
One night, not too long after Alaura was born, I was laying with Nate and singing one of his favorite songs—the most beautiful rendition of Amazing Grace sung by Tigirlily. You can listen to it here:
When I finished singing, Nate rubbed his tired eyes and asked, “Mommy? Where does amazing grace even live?”
I gently brushed his hair back away from his little forehead, my heart swelling at how sweet his question was. “Well, amazing grace lives in our hearts, buddy. It’s love that Heavenly Father gives us all, no matter what. So, it’s everywhere.”
Confusion danced across his furrowed brows. “No, but, like…where does she actually live?”
Now I was just as confused. How do you explain to a four year old where grace lives?
All of a sudden, I realized what he was thinking—that Amazing Grace was the name of a girl, like his little sister, Alaura Grace.
“No, bud,” I stifled a laugh, “Amazing Grace isn’t a girl. It’s what Heavenly Father gives to us to help us through life. It’s all His love.”
He was quiet for a minute, considering this. Finally, his grin stretched from ear to ear, “Ohhhh!!! I get it now!” He beamed, clearly proud of himself. “So she lives in heaven!”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed so hard, tears poured from my eyes. All I could muster in response was, “Yeah, she lives in heaven.”
Now here’s where it gets funnier and comes full circle.
Just a couple nights ago, while lying in bed with Alaura (who is now eleven), I was telling her this story. When I got to the part about me explaining that Amazing Grace isn’t a girl, Alaura interrupted me.
“Wait. WHAT?!”
“What?” I asked, unsure why that part was so surprising.
“You mean to tell me Amazing Grace isn’t a song about a girl? I’ve been lied to my whole life!”
Y’all…
I was cracking up! All these years and I just assumed my kids knew what Amazing Grace was about. Apparently, I totally dropped that ball as a mom.
When I look back on these and all the other memories I have with my kiddos, I can’t help but to be filled with gratitude. I love being called mom, mommy, momma, ma, and even bruh by my babies.
And although I was never really fond of Alisha, I definitely am grateful it didn’t end up being Eunice!
Names are funny. We can use them to live in an identity that was given to us, create an identity we want to live in instead, or to remind us of who we truly are.
Regardless of the name we carry, I hope you always remember that you have a Heavenly Father, Who loves you no matter what, and Whose amazing grace is more than sufficient. You also have a Savior, Jesus Christ, Who engraved your name on His palms. And because of that, you, my friend, have the ability to live a beautiful life, to accomplish incredible things, and to fill your world with memories that will make you smile.
To end, I’d like to leave you with the words of the great Dr. Suess, “So, be your name Buxbaum or Bixby or Bray or Mordecai Ali Van Allen O’Shea, you’re off to Great Places! Today is your day! Your mountain is waiting. So get on your way!”
If you’d like to hear more about my experience, check out my podcast, Latter Day Lights, below.
