1 year, 10 months.

Dear Holly,

Like your brother’s name, Jack, you also have one of those classic, easy to spell, easy to recognize, but not overly popular names.

Every generation has its Holly, yet the name never quite pings the radar like the names Jennifer or Amanda from my age group, nor Chloe or Sophia in your age group.

Everyone knows a Holly. It’s a name that’s been around for quite a while, too; since the 1930s.

But I am pretty confident to predict that there will never be another Holly in any of your classes throughout school.

Whereas I pretty much immediately named your brother before Mommy had a chance to offer up anything, that’s how it was with naming you, but the other way around.

Mommy always had the name Holly in mind, if we ever had a girl.

So when we found out you were going to be a girl, there was no thinking to be done. Conveniently for me, Holly was a name that easily worked.

I’m trying to imagine you by any other name.

I could potentially see Jenna.

And even though I really like the name Lola, you don’t look like a Lola.

The funny thing is, I don’t know what a Holly is supposed to look like.

Anyone I’ve met named Holly has looked completely different from the next one.

I am very proud of your name. It’s not a name I would have thought of on my own, but thanks to Mommy, it was the only name ever considered.

Perhaps subconsciously, I’ve always seen your name as the perfect feminine foil to your brother’s classic masculine name.

If I’m going to have a son with a undeniably masculine name like Jack, who’s into Pokemon and Halo, then my daughter needs to have an undeniably feminine name like Holly, who’s into Minnie Mouse and baby dolls.

You were meant to be my Holly.

Love,

Daddy