Anyone who has owned a pet knows the stress of naming the animal properly. At least it stresses me out. Friends of mine have come up with a good solution to the pet-naming dilemma. They name all their dogs after family members, which I find charming and also pretty loaded. Is it awkward when their relative’s namesake does dog things like pooping on the veranda or humping a stuffed hedgehog? Or is it apt? “That’s just like something Uncle Rodney would’ve done,” they might say, as Rodney the schnauzer licks his beehole.

I dunno. I’ve never named a dog. I do know that naming cats, much like training cats, is futile and a waste of time. Cats will reveal their names to you when they’re good and damned ready. Your first attempt at naming them will fail. Case in point: Lillith the cat. Lillith was named after Adam’s first wife who refused to be submissive and therefore was replaced with Eve. Lillith went on to give birth to demons. Great name for a cat who burst through a screened-in window to get laid and then go on have her own set of adorable demons kittens. Anyway, her name didn’t stick. She was Lillith, then Lillith Anne. Then she acquired both a mob name and a last name: Lillith Anne “Tuna Juice” Jones. The she somehow gained a hyphenated last name and became Lillith Anne “Tuna Juice” Jones-Puss. We actually called her Tuna, TJ Jones, Toonie, Toon, Toonces, one of the Jones Girls, etc. I’m still not sure what to put on her gravestone.

Naming a child is hard. It’s legally binding, which it is not with cats and dogs. If Boychild decides he hates his name or is actually a Girlchild, he’ll have to go through some serious rigmarole to change it. Also, you can’t really tell the future, so the perfectly good name my husband and I chose for Boychild in 2017 might be the name of a future dictator or famous idiot. Or his name may become a meme. Lookin’ at you, Karens. In case you don’t know, the name “Karen” is a catchall for white ladies with mall hairdos behaving in racist, obnoxious and entitled ways. No one wants to be “a Karen.” Apologies to all the lovely, non-obnoxious Karens I know. The good thing about the internet is that it has a short shelf life. Next year, we might be like “remember that time we called mean white ladies ‘Karen’? Me neither.” That’s a balm. Unless my child’s name is historically bad, he’ll be fine. It’ll blow over in a few years. Nevertheless, we had a tough time finding the right name for him. Imagine Husband and I arguing interchangeably about the following names, all of which were actual possibilities:

Finn? As in short for Phinneas? No. Everyone’s kid is named Finn these days.
Jett? Wasn’t that the name of John Travolta’s son who died? Yeah. So, no.
Irving? What, and call him ‘Irv’? Who calls a baby ‘Irv’?
Aldous? No.
Terrell? Just add a “bull” to the back of it and it sounds like “terrible.” No thank you.

Aaand scene.

Husband and I were basically re-enacting the classic Saturday Night Live sketch where Nic Cage and Julia Sweeney are trying to name their baby. Nic soundly rejects every name. A package arrives and it’s revealed that Nic’s character is named Asswipe. “It’s pronounced oz-WEE-pay!” he shouts, full of shame and the signature Nic Cage mania.

The ironic thing about our choosing a first name is that we failed to pick a middle name. We were caught off guard when the nurse came in after Boychild was born and said, “what’s his middle name?” Husband and I exchanged a look. I stammered uh. uh. umm. I wasn’t prepared for a pop quiz mere hours after pushing a human out of my hoo-hoo. But I rallied.  “Axel!” I said. “His middle name is Axel!” I declared triumphantly. Husband shrugged and said, “I guess it’s Axel.” In my strange pregnancy dreams, I woke myself up singing the last part of Guns and Roses’ Sweet Child O’ Mine. Ya know that part where Axel Rose goes off on a vocal run, yodeling “Chieeee yi eee yayayayaaaahaaa yi eee yi yiiiiiiiahld of miiieeeyiiiine.” Yeah, I was singing that in my sleep and then woke myself up and laughed out loud for a long while, waking Husband. I felt Axel was an appropriate middle name. Also it means “father of peace.” Also, Axel Foley was fun.

No matter what your actual name may be, rest assured I have a nickname for you in my head. I do this with people I know well and people I don’t. I also make up names for people whose real names I don’t like or don’t agree with. Your name might be “Missy” but I call you Belinda.

I heard recently that names are so hard to remember (and I am THE WORST at remembering names) because they don’t actually signify anything of importance. They don’t display a quality or any relevant information about the person. It made me happy. I might not know your name, but I know how you engage with the world. I probably know what dryer sheets you use. I might also know what instrument you’d be, if you were an instrument. I just don’t remember your name. It also makes me secure in the fact that while I took great pains to give Boychild the best name I could, most people won’t remember it anyway. 🙂