Thinking up a name for a new teeny-tiny baby is a lot of
pressure. No doubt about it. Parents have one chance to get it
right. One.
Thinking up a name for a new teeny-tiny baby is a lot of pressure. No doubt about it. Parents have one chance to get it right. One.
I’ve always marveled at people who could pick out a name practically the very same instant the first two embryonic cells divide, and stick to it for nine months, unwavering. I suspect these are the same sort of people who alphabetize their CDs and mail their Christmas cards early.
Me, I’m the sort of person who can’t commit to anything unless I absolutely have to. Some people may think of this quality as being “flaky.” I prefer to think of it as “being flexible.” But as an experienced parent, who has been there, let me warn you new parents now, most hospitals will not go for this sort of willy-nilly attitude. Sooner or later, you are visited by a well-meaning nurse hovering over the bassinet with a pen and clipboard, demanding that you tell her some sort of name to write down on the birth certificate. And, believe me, she will not leave you alone until she gets it. If she’s desperate, she might even accept names like, “I’m still thinking,” and “Just a few more minutes.” So you really do have to be careful what you tell this well-meaning nurse.
And, sure, I know she’s only doing her job. But don’t even try explaining to her that you had a perfect name all ready, but the information stored in your brain must’ve somehow leaked out when you were busy giving birth, and you have absolutely no idea what to call your new child.
If you don’t believe that something like this can happen, just ask my friend Judy. When they finally brought her the birth certificate, the best she could do, after racking her brain, was to come up with a name she remembered from the midnight talk show she had stayed up watching the night before. “Conan Letterman I think,” she said weakly. Luckily, her husband arrived before they could write it down and remembered that they had liked the name “Robert.”
There are countless other things to consider about choosing a name as well.
Can it be easily expanded or shortened? Can it be said real fast five times in a row? Can anyone else on this planet spell it? Does is rhyme with any undesirable attribute that can be pointed out by a hostile kid on the kindergarten playground? Are there any cars, movie animals or serial killers with the same name? Is it too trendy? Cute? Bourgeoisie? The list goes on and on.
Everyone has their own system for choosing a name. For instance, my friend Mary, a practical sort of person, bought a popular book of names called “Beyond Jason and Jennifer,” because she had wanted to be sure to choose a name that was a bit out of the ordinary. However, as luck would have it, by the time her son came she had only made it as far as the cover. Now under intense pressure to make some kind of decision, the name “Jason” suddenly sounded perfect.
Me, I used my usual scientific method of taking a wild guess and hoping it all works out.
Which is probably all you can do. No matter what name you give your children, they will eventually change it anyway. In fact, when my son started kindergarten he insisted that I call him Mr. B.
Oh sure, I could’ve made him feel guilty about how I spent days, months (!), scanning baby books and grilling friends until I found the exact name that matched his personality. And I could have told him about how I narrowly saved him from being named Waldo after a great uncle on his father’s side.
But instead I sighed, “OK, whatever you want, Mr. B.” Not because it was OK, mind you, but because he was 5, and his mind was made up, and I knew no matter how many times I insisted this wasn’t his real name, he wouldn’t listen to me.
Get used to that.
Debbie Farmer is a humorist and a mother of two kids, holding down the fort in California. She is also the author of “Don’t Put Lipstick on the Cat.”.
