The baby is a boy. (This will come as no surprise to you if you follow me on Instagram, where I also post fairly regular photos of my ever-growing midsection. It’s not pretty. But you’re welcome to join me if you’d like.)
If all goes according to plan he will be in our arms in exactly four months give or take a week or so.
It’s rough trying to choose a name that both Poor Kyle and I like. There are several that I’ve had on standby for many years (Holden and Brighton stand out as my two longtime favourites), but Poor Kyle hates them all.
There are a few that are a little less unique that we both like (Oliver and Porter to mind), but we know so many kids with those names that just can’t do it. It’s not like we are bound and determined to choose a name that nobody’s ever heard of before…it’s just that we don’t want our kid to be one of four Olivers in his class (like the Jakes and the Matts and the Adams of my generation).
We finally found a boy name that we both liked a few months ago, and we were pretty dead set on it until we found out officially that our baby is, in fact, a boy. Because then it became real, and I started having second thoughts: It’s a big responsibility, choosing a name for a person. I almost feel like I don’t have a right to do it. I mean, who am I to declare what name this tiny person should be called? His mother, sure, but WHAT DOES THAT REALLY MEAN?? I grew him in my stomach for nine months? So what? Does that really give me a right to choose what the whole world will call him? And so early, too! What if his personality turns out to be completely different than the name we give him? What if it doesn’t match at all? Will he live his whole life feeling like a John when he has to answer to a name completely different? Will he feel like he’s living a lie?
And moreover, doesn’t every little kid hate his name anyway? I hated mine for years. My mom told me once that when she was pregnant with me they were torn between naming me Camille and Kara, and I was DEVASTATED because they’d so clearly made the wrong choice. I demanded to be called Kara for an entire summer just to spite them.
Then later on, when Kara didn’t take, I decided to work with what I had. Instead of choosing a new name altogether I decided just to use my real name as a base. I decided Cammie was a good enough name—better than Camille anyway—and for the better part of my sixth grade year I went by that.
Even Poor Kyle proudly admits to this day that he hated the name Kyle and he always wished he’d been called Spike.
So clearly we’re doomed to disappoint this boy no matter what name we choose for him, and the one we like is a little bit “out there” to boot. (It’s not totally made up like Zimmy, and it’s nothing super whacky like Sir Lancelot or Mr. Mistoffelees or anything like that, but it’s not a first name I’ve ever heard before and I do realise that uncommon names have the power to make or break a kid. He could wear it well, turn out super cute and confident and be the envy of all his friends; or he could be a super nerd and his name could become just one more thing he hates about his life.)
The pressure is too much for me. I love this child so much and I don’t think I can bear to ruin his life like this (if in fact he decides his name has ruined his life). Can’t we just call him “Number One” until he gets old enough to decide on one for himself?
How does anybody ever choose a baby name?
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