We were down to the wire. One week before our seventh grandchild was due, she was still The Baby To Be Named Later.
It wasn’t that the parents weren’t telling us her name. They really couldn’t figure out what to call her.
See, the babe would be their second child and second daughter, and it wasn’t like naming the first one had been a walk in the park. There was much, much debate before “Margo Joy” was inked in on the birth certificate two and a half years ago.
Our daughter makes me happy in that she lets me participate in the baby-naming sweepstakes. But maybe I shouldn’t feel all that flattered, since Margo also was asked for her opinion.
First, she weighed in that Baby Sister be named “Frodo.” Thankfully, both parents nixed that notion. This you might see as a foregone conclusion, but if you keep an eye on the Leader’s birth announcements, you know that someone could go there, they really could.
Margo’s next idea was “Fantastic Baby,” first and middle names in one fell swoop.
I thought that was pretty weird until I binge-watched “Jane the Virgin” on Netflix last week. After much, much debate, two of the characters chose “Baby” as their newborn infant’s first name. Regardless of that groundswell of support, Margo’s parents tactfully rejected that one, too.
Mom liked “Ramona” and Dad liked “Myra.” Neither was charmed by the other’s first choice. Margo jumped onto Team Daddy, and hollered out “Myra” at the top of her lungs before anyone could finish asking her what she thought. Did I mention she’s 2?
The discussion, which has consumed several months of 2020, took me back to a similar time period in 1984, when we were trying to name our second child and second son. Peter Michael had arrived in 1980, and there had never been a second boy’s name in the lineup.
Two weeks before a two-weeks-overdue birth, we finally chose “Philip Andrew,” which narrowly edged out “Brandon Alexander.”
I can’t overstate how relieved we were when he turned out to be the only Philip in a kindergarten class that had four Brandons.
For the third pregnancy, we decided against having the sonogram that would reveal gender. The girl name we’d stashed away years before was still a lady-in-waiting, but we figured it would take the whole pregnancy to come up with a third boy name.
I was convinced we were going to be a three-son family, just like my husband’s had been. The TV show, “My Three Sons,” had been one of my favorites. And although I’d always planned on having girls, I had discovered that boys were mighty fine.
It was a nice surprise to find that boy name No. 3 was going to be a slam dunk. “Aaron Joseph” hadn’t even been on the list four years earlier, but emerged as the front-runner in our first discussion session.
My next morning at work sealed the deal. First up on my to-do list was editing birth announcements. And the first boy name to come up? You guessed it: “Aaron Joseph,” which I’d never seen before as a first and middle combination. It was a sign.
I would have bet a million bucks I’d be holding little Aaron in my arms in a few months.
And I was. But not in the way you might suppose.
On Oct. 16, 1987, Joanna Kay Bess came into the world. (Pssst… girls are wondrous, too.)
Some weeks later, my brother and sister-in-law had their fourth child, the one they were convinced would be a girl named Tracey Anne.
With three babies’ worth of experience, Valerie knew what it felt like to carry boys and girls. She didn’t need a sonogram to make the case.
But when she called me from the hospital, holding her red-haired son, she sounded a little panicked. We’d let it be known our family was complete and she had a question.
“What was that boy’s name you guys picked out? I know I liked it,” she said.
My nephew Aaron Joseph has always been extra-special to me – the little boy I never had.
Our newest granddaughter arrived on July 30, a date we’ll easily remember since it is our anniversary and our daughter-in-law’s birthday.
Nearly a month old now, she’s not named Ramona, Myra or Theodosia (our son-in-law’s favorite going back to the negotiations over the naming rights of the baby who became Margo). She’s not Serena, not Gwen, not Sutton or Mavis, all names on the short (?) list. Not Edith, Gia or Ingrid.
We had the privilege of being on the scene when Lyra Grace came home from the hospital.
Hopefully, you won’t think me biased when I tell you she’s just as lovely as her name.
