The Naming

The child was asleep in her arms. I sat across from her in the mirrored room while my three year old ran circles around us, pausing at each turn to make sure her twin in the mirror was still there.

“He’s so tiny,” I gushed appropriately. “How old is he?”

“He’ll be eleven weeks on Tuesday,” she responded. Her chestnut curls brushed across the baby’s face as she lowered her eyes to gaze into his.

“What’s his name?” I continued.

“We don’t know yet,” the woman replied. “We’re waiting for him to tell us.”

My daughter stopped orbiting, "He doesn't have a name?" she asked.

“Don’t you have to do that at the hospital?” I also questioned.

“No. We have until twelve weeks.”

“Does he talk?” my daughter asked, taking a sudden interest in the creature. She reached out her hand to touch the baby’s cheek.

“Careful, honey,” I warned, taking hold of her small hand in mine. “That baby’s still too tiny for you to touch.” Turning my attention to the mother I added, “Have you any ideas?”

She shook her head.

Later that day, after I’d put my daughter down for her mid-afternoon nap and I had a quiet moment to think, I pondered this idea. What if we didn’t name our children at birth, but gave them names which more reflected their unique personalities. What if we chose names for them which could tell strangers exactly who they would become. 

Would it have been helpful if my old boyfriend’s parents had named him “He’s going to break your heart” instead of “Mike”? Heck yeah, I’d have been spared months of grief! Or if the director at my daughter’s pre-school had been named “Embezzler”, I would be spared the hassle of sending in brownies for the weekly bake sale. 

Imagine the wife of "I'm going to beat the crap out of you."  filing a police report. "Well, ma'am, what did you expect?" would come their reply.  "I can't be trusted with even the smallest secret. I'll talk behind your back just as soon as I have the opportunity." might not be so popular in middle school, but everyone would want to be friends with "I'm going to win the Nobel Prize for Peace". The possibilities were endless!

But what about me? What would my parents have named me to warn others? "I'll spend my life doing laundry" or "I'll marry for stability." No, this name had to be deeper. It had to be the thing which most defined me, the one I hid even from myself.

My name should've been "I'll fall in love at fifty, too late in life to do anything about it, and spend my time regretting past decisions just like my mother did" but then there probably was not enough room on the birth certificate.

The next week in music class, the young mother was there, again, with her baby. She smiled at us as we walked into the mirrored room.

“We named our son yesterday,” she said proudly. “Meet Mike.”

I stared at the tiny defenseless little baby she held and thought someday he’s going to break someone’s heart.

“Hello, Mike," my daughter said.