“If you had another baby, what would you call him or her?” the youngest child asked at the dinner table the other night. The question was greeted by the familiar choking noise reserved for any mention of the possibility of another child. It was hard to distinguish who was gasping for breath more, himself or the eldest child.
It was, of course, a purely hypothetical question. The kids like to discuss what they might call their own children if and when the time comes, and this was just a lead-in to open the conversation. A lot of thought has gone into their name considerations. The one named after Spider-Man plans to be more direct when the opportunity arises. None of this having to spell your name for everyone who presumes it to be the more traditional spelling. If he, like his mother, chooses to name a child after a superhero it will simply be the Hulk or Ironman. Everyone can spell those.
It took the shock of witnessing a melon-sized child coming out of a nostril-sized hole to make himself concede that any woman who has gone through childbirth should be allowed to call her child She-Ra if she so chooses
But lots of thought went into my children’s names. Lots. Long, long before I was ever a mother I considered what I might call the children I might one day have. I read Wuthering Heights at school. To this day it remains my favourite book. And I loved it so much I thought I’d probably call my first daughter Catherine. I mean, what more sophisticated way to pick a name for a child than to choose it from a literary classic? But then a new character came into Home and Away and I really liked her name, so I changed my mind.
So when I was expecting my first child I explained to my husband that I already had a girl’s name chosen so we didn’t need to discuss one. Then Sonia in EastEnders had a baby completely unexpectedly — even to her — one episode, used my chosen name and threw a complete spanner in the works. Suddenly, himself was a lot less keen on the name. And it took the shock of witnessing a melon-sized child coming out of a nostril-sized hole to make him concede that any woman who has gone through the bloodbath of childbirth should be allowed to call her child She-Ra Princess of Power, if she so chooses. This particular woman didn’t so choose. She went with the Home and Away name instead.
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When child two was due, no name was already decided. We had narrowed it down to two for a boy. It was a tough labour, and I was woozy with blood loss. After his birth my husband went out to the waiting room to tell my parents they had a grandson, leaving me momentarily alone with our nameless son on the labour ward. The cleaning lady came in and admired my newborn.
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“What did you have?” asked she. “A boy”, said I. “And what did you call him?” asked she. “I don’t know yet,” replied I, explaining that I had two names in mind, one of which was Liam. “Oh, don’t call him Liam” she said. “My ex-husband was called Liam, and he was a proper bastard,” she continued. And that’s how my son ended up being called the other name.
When my favourite pop star died, a pop star I’d adored since childhood, I decided to give my next child born the pop star’s name as his middle name. It seemed a nice idea at the time
The Tweenies almost influenced another child’s name. Almost. But Star Wars definitely did. And when my favourite pop star died, a pop star I’d adored since childhood, I decided to give my next child born the pop star’s name as his middle name. It seemed a nice idea at the time. Now I’m not so quick to volunteer who influenced my name choice, so mostly, when we’re asked, a vague commentary about being named after an uncle follows. Shamone and all that jazz.
The children are often curious as to where their own names came from, and they’ve heard their respective stories frequently. Still, if the dinner-table discussion is anything to go by, there seem to be few enough background stories to the names they’ve chosen at random for their own future children. Perhaps they’re just not watching enough soap operas — or reading enough classics.
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Maybe YouTubers will influence the names of my future grandchildren. You know, if superheroes names ever drop out of fashion. Perhaps they’ll have their own stories to tell about why Thor just didn’t cut it any more.
Like we also do for the other names chosen for miscarried babies we never met. The names that privately mean something to us but are never spoken in the wider family. Until my daughter chose one, quite deliberately, as her Confirmation name, some years back.
What’s in a name, I wondered all those years ago. Quite a Iot, I learned.