When I discovered the genders of my sons, I was immediately consumed with thoughts about their names. Choosing a name for my first child was straightforward; we decided on Samuel, in honor of my cherished grandfather who had passed away a few years earlier. However, selecting a middle name proved to be more complex. We considered names from both sides of the family, including my father’s father and my husband’s beloved grandfather, with whom he had a profound relationship.
In what I thought was a harmless act, I shared our naming ideas with family. Their responses varied widely, from enthusiastic support to passionate objections. I understood that names tied to family history could evoke strong emotions, but I was unprepared for the level of insistence from certain relatives regarding our choices. Ultimately, we chose my husband’s grandfather’s name as the middle name, partly because it resonated with us, but also due to the pressure and guilt we felt from family expectations.
This experience was my introduction to the unsolicited advice many parents receive about their choices. As I navigated the early days of parenthood, I began to develop a thicker skin, gaining confidence in my decisions. Yet, when it came time to name our second child, I unwittingly repeated my earlier mistake by involving family once more.
Why didn’t I learn the first time? We were not considering a name linked to anyone who had passed away; we simply wanted a pleasant, straightforward name. Our options included Oliver, Henry, and Nathan. We were particularly fond of Nathan, inspired by the adventures we shared reading beloved stories to our first son. When I envisioned our new baby, Nathan felt like the right name.
We casually mentioned Nathan as a top contender to our family. Reactions were mixed; some were supportive, others indifferent, and a few outright opposed it. The intensity of their disapproval shocked me—rather than receiving mild critiques, I was met with fervent requests to reconsider. I found myself overwhelmed by the negativity, leading me to excuse myself and seek solace in the privacy of the bathroom, where I let my emotions out.
Looking back, my response seems overly dramatic, yet I was certain Nathan was the right name for our son. On top of that, I was dealing with the heightened emotions of pregnancy. That very night, my labor began, propelling me into the whirlwind of childbirth while still feeling stung by the harsh reactions from family regarding our name choice.
When our son finally arrived, his tiny features were overwhelming. As we affectionately called him “Mini-Maverick,” our older son entered the room and asked what we had decided on for the name. He had been part of the discussions, though I wasn’t sure how closely he had been paying attention. When we admitted we hadn’t chosen one yet, he looked at us incredulously and exclaimed, “His name is Nathan!” That moment solidified our decision, and we happily embraced the name. The family members who had disapproved seemed to fall silent once our baby was born; with him in the world, there were no more debates.
While I don’t hold any ill feelings towards my family for their opinions, it would have been wiser for us to withhold our naming intentions. Even if we didn’t explicitly seek feedback, sharing our ideas invited unsolicited input. Ultimately, the decision of what to name your child should lie entirely with you and your partner. Other opinions are secondary, especially when the name in question is far from outrageous.
If I could turn back time, I would keep my children’s names entirely to myself, sharing nothing with anyone—no hints or suggestions, just private decisions made between us.
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In summary, navigating the naming process for my children was fraught with unexpected challenges and pressures from family. Ultimately, it reinforced the importance of making personal decisions without external influence.