Yes I know this is a recycled post. But we’ve been on the virus train for over a week now. I’ve been up since 2am with a coughing vomiting child. And the fourth kid is about to come down with a fever. So, you really don’t want to read anything I write today.

In fact I don’t even know if I am currently making sense. So without further adieu… a post I wrote while coherent about how my one baby got her name. Sort of…

This is George’s sister, George. She started life as a feral. Eating out of trash cans and living under a storage container.

However, she was not always referred to as George. She went by another name until after my fourth baby was born.

About three weeks after I named and renamed her on the spot in the maternity ward. I was sitting on the couch with her tiny little sleeping self in my arms making those cute little newborn songs. When my husband said to me, “You know she’s not the only one in the house with that name.”

I looked at him in my postpartum hormonal haze and replied with a nod at George’s sister, “You mean her?”

“Yep.”

“Oh that’s George.”

Just as the real George walked by.

“And that is?” he asked with a bit of poorly hidden skepticism.

“George. Just ask the kids. They’ll tell you.”

And since every time we doubt one of our kids convictions we turn out to be wrong, no one has questioned it since.

George and George.