David and I had decided to not find out the sex of our baby. I was pretty darn sure it was a boy. So sure that I sewed everything and even monogrammed it for a boy. I laughed when people guessed girl and proudly proclaimed I “had never been wrong.”
God was laughing.
Because when I showed up to the hospital with my baby blue and green trousseau I was completely surprised when the doctor hollered, “It’s a girl!”
Luckily, I had a girl’s name in the back of my mind. David’s grandfather had recently passed away and his name was Victor. I added a “y” on the end and figured since this child came from such an athletic family Victory was a perfect name. I chose Rose as a middle name and reasoned that because Christ rose from the dead, we had Victory over death and in life. So as they took the baby out of my arms to weigh her, when the doctor asked me her name, I whispered “Victory Rose.”
I called home as soon as I was able and asked the girls to wash all the baby girl clothing. My mother quickly brought up some things that were pink. David’s father was pleased that the baby was named after his father. And David’s sister Laura, a professional athlete, said that the baby’s name sounded like a race horse!
Which is not entirely off base. The baby’s heartrate my entire pregnancy was super low – so we joked all along that the baby was just some super athlete waiting to race…so who knows? Maybe Victory is the name of an athlete…but it is surely the name of my adorable five year old who follows in Kemper’s shadows all day.
Her better known nickname, Crickie, is because Ransom couldn’t say “Victory” when she was newborn…it came out “Cwickory”…and eventually got shortened to Crickie. The nickname stuck and fits her just fine.
To read more about how to raise a strong-willed girl like my Crickie, read chapter 13 of my book Please God Don’t Let Me Screw This Up!