Naming a child is hard when there are but two parents. Up the number of concerned parties and the angst over naming grows exponentially more intense.
My son left the the hospital with a standard complement of names provided by his mother. N. used them in the weeks they lived together; later we used them in the months he lived with but was not yet related to us. Not even one of those names would we have chosen on our own, especially as the final one was provided by N.’s partner at the time of the birth — a man who made neither genetic contribution to the boy nor financial contribution to his mother. Ever.
When the time came to make the boy a legal member of the family we were faced with a conundrum: Given that he had to bear our last name, should we truncate the names he came with so that he’d have the typical number and no more? Could we compress them somehow? Was there a way to incorporate his birthmother’s surname as we’d done for his sister? Did we have an obligation to keep his original last name considering that there was no genetic tie? And what of the names we’d dreamed of using for boy-children? Did our desires have to be pushed aside in this aspect of adoption too?
I won’t detail the process of negotiation, pouting and passive-aggressive behavior everyone endured before reaching a decision; suffice it to say that my boy now groans under a weight of names the likes of which even British monarchy cannot bear. We took nothing from him. We only added, with the reasoning that someday he can explain or ignore any of the names as he sees fit.
Thank science I’ll never have to go through that again, I thought four years ago, but my thanks were premature. Emboldened perhaps by our willingness to keep her preferred names, N. made a similar request when choosing parents for her latest child. Were they blinded by baby-lust when they agreed without question to the names she wanted? Perhaps, because as soon as she selected them they began waffling.
It was because they didn’t understand, they claimed, and thus they let their hearts fix on a simplified spelling of the child’s first name. They avoided the topic during pre-birth doctor’s visits and at the hospital; once the infant was installed in their home and they began using the shortened spelling of her name, they hoped N. would never learn — or would only learn years later — that they’d gone against her wishes.
N.’s arrival on Facebook changed all that. I awoke one morning to angry, worried emails from both mothers. How did you handle naming, the one asked. Why aren’t they being honest with me? said the other. What are we supposed to do? continued the first.
If I hadn’t taken a long pause my answer would have been far harsher than it was. She carried your child for nine months, gave birth to her, then handed her to you and now you can’t even honor her spelling request, I wanted to ask. Instead I suggested calm and compromise: Could you use the original spelling on the birth certificate and the simplified spelling elsewhere? Keep the name supplied by N’s current partner even though there is no genetic tie? Can you give the nod to N.’s wishes as they are motivated only by love?
Impossible, replied the new mother. She didn’t want to confuse the child or her future teachers with multiple spellings and she certainly didn’t want her bearing the name of a man to whom she had no blood ties. Um, I held myself back from saying. You do remember that she also has no blood ties to you?
We don’t have to show N. the birth certificate, do we? she asked. Maybe we’ll just let her think we used her names and make sure N. never sees that piece of paper. I didn’t hold back from answering that. Woman, you are building a relationship you hope will last for many years, including a time when your daughter can read her own birth certificate and call her birthmother with no help or permission from you. Do you really want to have to explain then that you lied?
“I just want her to know that she had people who loved her even before she was born,” N. said to me later. Can you write her a letter, I suggested. Tell her how you came up with her names, then put it in a safe spot so that you can give it to her when she’s older?
This is all I can say to them; in fact it is far more than I should have said, as every instance of interference on my part deprives them of the chance to build this relationship for themselves.
I only recently had any experience with adoption. My partner is adopted. I still struggle two years later with understanding. And now, as we consider adoption, I often look to your blog for a little piece of the puzzle.
That’s a really sweet thing to say. Email me if you’d like some book suggestions, ok?
It seems like an adoption isn’t the best context in which to make promises you don’t intend to keep. How would Newparents feel if N. had changed her mind about sharing her daughter? Of course, I’m sure this is hard for everyone.
I named my dog after a monkey. Something tells me I might not get to have an opinion on this.
You have more grace and patience than I. Every child is a gift. To me the name child bears is as much a gift, and will throughout their lives have some measure of bearing on them. But just as important is the name they bear within the family. Yes? For instance: I prefer to be called Lizzy, my family has always called me Beth, and long time friends have called me any variation of Liz, Zil, Lizzy, Lizard, Lizzil (fun friend). I will always be Beth to my family–they don’t even bother with what I prefer *smiles*. However, I wasn’t raised by my birth parents, but by my maternal grand parents. I did not know my father growing up or his family, but in later years when I finally contacted them as an adult I had to use my first name–Elizabeth being my middle name–before they would realize who I was saying I was. When their family would talk about me, or refer to me in any of their family memorabilia, I was a variation of my first name, Sabrina. They called me Sabo. I just chuckled when I heard it, and it was so far from who I felt I was, that when they called me that, I cringed. Inside of myself I am Lizzy. I know her very well. I respond to Beth and Sabo out of respond.
On more thing I’ll share, if you premit me is this: My children..are called Cooka (the youngest), the middle and oldest daughter is Gilly-Keet (cuz she used to cry out, like a parakeet) or at times Katydid, and the oldest my son is Josephus, or Joe See Fuss (b/c he was clingy and fussy when he wasn’t attached to my hip). I still call them these names. One cuz still calls me Beff…another cousin’s nickname by our grandfather was Frog, and sometimes we still smilingly yell out for her that way. We learned growing up, and today in my house, the only use for proper names is when you are gonna get in trouble, or you already are. *chuckles*
Your child can have 500 names (unless there’s a legal limit) but who they call themselves, and what you call them in love, matters far more than what is on the paper. Later on when they go for drivers licences they can sort it out then. *giggles*
I’m amazed you’re able to allow such closeness of the birth family. Is there a kinship between you all or a long term friendship that allows you to do so with such grace?
We’re not related by blood. I’ve known the mother since we were introduced by the adoption agency nearly six years ago.
I’m not a fan of going back on promises. If they agreed to allow N. to name the child, they really should honor that.
That being said, I’m not sure I could be a part of a process like this. It’s tough enough managing the child’s needs and best interests without tossing even more people’s feelings and desires into the mix.
Bless your heart. And those of other parents just like you. It’s not an easy road. For anyone.