My dear, sweet George,

We've reached a year with you!! Your first birthday was as low-key a birthday as we've ever had in this family (partly because you're in a full leg cast) but you are as low-key as they come, so it was fitting. You've added a precious element of calm to our family, and I am so grateful for you and your sweet spirit. As I've told anyone who would understand, "I finally got a Type 2!"

Your dad and I have had many questions and varied reactions about your name over the last year, and since I haven't yet written it down, I thought I'd tell that story.

Long ago, when I got the ultrasound to tell us if you were a boy or a girl, I brought Will & Emma with me.  They sat in the chair and watched as the tech showed your different body parts, and finally we saw the one we were waiting for - "It's a BOY!"
Afterward in the car, we called Dad on speakerphone to tell him the news.
"What should we name him?" I asked.
"George!" said Will, without hesitation, and I laughed. It was a totally random thing for him to say. No one uses the name George anymore, I thought to myself, and I didn't plan on doing it either. I don't even know any Georges in real life. So, I logged that away.  We picked out a handful of other good names and waited for you to come.

Months later, you were born. Your birth was incredible! I felt in control through the entire labor, and once you arrived I was ecstatic. We called and texted family, even though it was late. Grandma & Grandpa Eddington came to see you right away; so did Grandma Morgan.

The next morning, congratulatory texts started coming in. "Anna and I both think he looks like a George," T.R. said.
"That's weird," your dad and I said.
Then Kiana came to the hospital to see you. "He looks like a George," she said.
"What the heck?!" your dad and I said.

Seemed like a pretty strong message.

But I didn't want to name you George! I looked up the Etymology of the name ... Farmer; Earthworker.  Not as romantic as I'd hoped. We kept going over the other names we had picked out, trying different combinations ... none of them really fit. You really did look like a George, and the more we said it, the more right it seemed. It still took us 2 days to give in. You were George. George Thomas Morgan.

It was really nice of you to tell us your name, and nice of you to come early and small and (relatively) easily. You've been nice to me your whole life, except for those few weeks of sleepless nights when we were never home last summer. I forgave you for those.

You love everyone, but especially your siblings and your Grandma Eddington. You love the car, and strawberries, and music, and nearly-hot bottles. You also love the bath and the toilet and banging any cupboard door you can find. We chase you around and you chase us right back. You are my sweetheart. I love you.