How I picked my children's names

Posted Tuesday 9th December 2014   By Ericka Waller

So this time seven years ago, I was almost due to give birth to my first child. I had no idea what I was having. I assumed a boy, based on the fact that my husband was one and he was bigger than me. (This made perfect sense at the time.) I had a girl. A big 9lb girl, at 6am on Christmas Eve. I had planned to call my boy Joe-Louis. It no longer seemed right, not having had one and all. “Eve?” I mused to the husband, who was asleep from the exertion of watching me give birth. (Him: “You made it look knackering.” Me: “Because it was”). He snored his veto loudly back at my name suggestion. I agreed. It was too cliche. Too naff.

We settled on “baby” and limped to the car (me from having just given birth and then stitched for an hour, him from carrying baby in the car seat). Later that night, we sat in the living room (well he sat, I perched on a blow up rubber ring). The fairy-lights twinkled and the top painkillers I’d been administered gave the room a beautiful hazy glow. From nowhere, he said “Grace” into the stillness. We both looked at our baby.  It was not a question. It was her name.

Fast forward two and a half years, and I am at it again. This time, once again, I assume a boy, and I’m all for calling him Geno. The “lovely baby”, as we called her for the first few hours, was slightly smaller than her big sister. “Nancy, Nellie, Scout, Rudy?” I shot at the husband from the name book. “No, no, Christ no and no” he said back. “Daisy then?” I said. “Good one” he confirmed, and so Daisy she became.

And then finally, fifteen months later, I was on the final push, and pioneering for a Geronimo. “I don’t think you should call her Geronimo” he mused, as he handed her over, “you said if she was a girl you’d call her Juno.” He snipped the cord (“Christ, it’s tough!”). But Juno did not suit her. It was too cool, too new, for this peaceful baby looking up at me, hands tucked under her chin. She looked like she had been here before and could teach me a thing or two about this life malarky. “I shall call you Bliss” I said to her serene face.

And so there we are. Gracie, Daisy and Bliss. Never actually called that of course. Gracie goes by “Choppo”, Daisy is “Didi” and Bliss, the serene looking sage, is fondly known as um (whispers) “Fathead”.

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