Bringing another human into this world is arguably the biggest responsibility [1] you will ever take on. Giving that tiny human a name is a close second. After all, that name [2] can be the basis of someone's first impression. It can be the source of taunts. And if you want to get unique [3], you could be subjecting your child to a lifetime of correcting people on its spelling or pronunciation. It may not seem like much to you, but as someone who has spent their entire life correcting just about everyone I meet (my name is pronounced Mar-EE-sa, not Marissa), I assure you that it gets old fast. So what happens when your partner is dead set on naming your child something that you hate [4]? In our case, it was a battle of wills until fate stepped in.
Nothing I said or did was going to change his mind. For 8 weeks, it was all we talked about. And during those 8 weeks, neither of us budged.
When I was 12 weeks pregnant with our firstborn, the ultrasound technician confidently told my husband and I that we were expecting a boy [5]. My husband's face lit up at the thought of having a son, who he was hell-bent on naming Joseph, after his grandfather. I have nothing against the name Joseph. In fact, I think it's a nice name. It's solid and classic [6] . . . but it's also common. And at the time, when we were living in an area where many people prided themselves on their Italian heritage (my husband's family included), it was a little too common.
I tried explaining to my husband that given the area in which we lived, our son would always be one of umpteen Josephs in his class. I even offered up a yearbook from the school at which I was teaching so that he could go through and count all of the Josephs, Joes, and Joeys. But nothing I said or did was going to change his mind. For 8 weeks, it was all we talked about. And during those 8 weeks, neither of us budged. I was convinced that we would leave the hospital with a nameless child.
During our 20-week ultrasound, we were asked if we wanted to know the sex of our baby [8]. We said we already knew we were having a boy. Well, we were wrong. The technician who had told us that we were having a boy did so prematurely. The 20-week scans confirmed from every angle that we were having a girl. I practically jumped off the table, and everyone in the office heard my shriek of excitement. Not only had I always dreamed of having a little girl, but now the weeks' long battle over a name was over. I had won by default.
Choosing a name for our daughter [10] proved much easier since my husband wasn't interested in any female variations of Joseph. On the day she was born, we arrived at the hospital with two potential names and a plan to select one when we finally met our little girl. In the end, however, my husband got to see and hold her first. I heard him say his first hello, followed by her name. It was one of the two names we had chosen together, but the final decision was ultimately his, and I have no regrets. Not only does her name suit her, but one of our twins has the other name and never was a baby more aptly named. I'd say that when it came down to choosing a name, we both won, and I wouldn't have it any other way.
Unless number four comes along and happens to be a boy . . . then we'll be right back to square one.