Her Name is Paige
Everything in the hospital was in shades of white and green; a sterile sort of look, but this baby made it all come into color.
“Mrs. Emmerich?â? The doctor’s voice seemed far away.
“Your other daughter is here to see the baby.â?
“What’s her name, Mommy?â? Her four year old voice was so innocent, like the chimes of a bell. I reached down and stroked her curls. “Well, I don’t know, hun,â? I told her.
“You should call her Paige,â? she told me. “After my dolly. I brought her for you.â? Clutched in her sticky fingers was that stupid doll, given to her by my mother.
I didn’t want a daughter named Paige. I didn’t want to have a girl who was bound by name to do the bidding of others…
“Knock knock, Mommy!â?
“Who’s there?â? I indulged her.
And in that flash, I remembered the other meaning of the word. Paige. She would be a girl with blank pages spread before her at every turn.
She would be a girl who could write her own story. A girl who could do anything.