When it comes to names, Filipinos are not lacking in creativity.
One Filipino naming tradition is to give children a name derived from their parents' names. Maryvic. Joseann. Laurichal (I just made that one up). And after all that, they usually just use a self-explanitory nickname like "Boy Boy" or "Girlie." That's on the reals.
I'm a "meaning" person. Things in my life need to have "meaning" or else what's the point? I'm intense like that.
So, when we named you both, we basically followed the above principles: combine names and make sure the names have some significance.
Maribel: Mari- comes from my maternal grandmother, crazy Grandma Reyes/Acoba whose name was, you guessed it, Maria. The -bel part is from your daddy's paternal grandmother whose middle name was Bell. And she hated it. I hope neither of your great grandmothers are turning in their graves.
Danielle Jolee: was simple enough. We wanted to keep pulling names from our families and honor two amazing men, especially since we had bought and moved into our new house and received so much support from them in the year preceding your birth. So, we choose a name from each of your grandfathers, Grampa Beadle and Lolopop.
It is more of a Spanish-speaking world tradition to pass down both the maternal and paternal last names, but it's not unheard of in Filipino families. All of my siblings have or had (before marriage) some combination of Lola's (we all have the same mom) last name, Reyes, and our respective fathers' (there are three of them between the four of us) last name. Your Uncle Bruce's name is hyphenated. Your Auntie D used her last names interchangeably depending on context. And your Unkinan and I were given the middle name Reyes and the last name Gibbs. No hyphen. And the option to use either or both as we saw fit.
Anyway, all that is to say, that we gave you both the middle name Reyes. It is a Spanish name, given to my grandfather's family during colonial occupation of the Philippines, originally de los Reyes, shortened by immigration officials when he came to the United States.
And your last name, by traditional naming standards is Beadle. Which is totally confusing because your dad goes by his last name.
Actually, it's not confusing.
When people are confused, they like to project. When they're confused about your race or your name or your "blended" family, they won't so much ask as tell you, "That must have been confusing when you were growing up?"
But, when it's what you know, it's what you know. And, hi, it's what you know.
I've never been confused by my names. By my siblings and their different fathers. By my ethnicity. Or by all those Aunties and Uncles who I've had to explain to question mark faces are "my Auntie, but not my Auntie, but, you know, my Auntie."
And you aren't confused either.
When people ask Babybel what her name is, she proudly declares:
"Mawibel Wheyes Gramma Gibbs Beadle"
Which might sound confusing and complicated and not at all her name, but I think the proof is in the pudding.
Even at two-almost-three years old, you know who you are. You know where you come from. And you know where you belong.
“I have summoned you by name; you are mine." - Isaiah 43:1b
[Don't you kind of want to add a "BWAHAHAHAHA" evil laugh to the end of that verse? Just for kicks?]