I’m embarrassed to admit this, but I started naming my babies well before I ever had children. When I was a young girl, I kept a journal. This journal was filled with my personal thoughts about life, which boys I wanted to marry, and the names of my future children. (I also would write in detail about what my house would look like. There would be a water fountain in the living room! And a roller coaster in the backyard! Totally normal thoughts and dreams for an eleven-year-old girl!)
The names for my Future Daughter(s) were always changing. There were so many adorable names to choose from! Savannah Grace. Soriah Grace. Whitney Elaine. Mercedes.
But the name for my Future Son was always the same: Josiah Andrew. There were no other names. It was only that one. Oh, how I loved the name Josiah. I would write it over and over again in my book. Josiah Andrew. Josiah Andrew. Josiah Andrew.
I got pregnant with my first child at twenty-two years old. One thing we didn’t have to worry about was our child’s name. We agreed if we had a girl, her name would be Whitney Elaine. And if it was a boy? Josiah Andrew, of course.
The big day arrived and at 9:54 pm, my perfectly beautiful, wonderful son was born. Josiah Andrew. It had been a long labor. (I pushed for two hours. TWO! HOURS!) I didn’t have an epidural, but I did have plenty of pain medications. I was exhausted and in a druggy haze when my husband approached me about our son’s name.
“I think we should name him Andrew Josiah.” “No,” I replied. “I really think Andrew Josiah would be a better name.” “No! His name is Josiah Andrew!” “But people will call him Jo, or Joey. You know they will.” “NO! Josiah. We’re naming him Josiah.”
My husband didn’t give up. He kept going on and on about all of the nicknames people would call him and how awful that would be and, really, we should just switch it to Andrew Josiah. I was exhausted (and vulnerable) and so I finally caved and agreed to the name change.
We made it official–our son’s name was Andrew Josiah. I regretted my decision immediately. I cried, I cussed, I screamed, “How could you make me do such a thing?!” My son’s name was supposed to be Josiah. “You can still call him Josiah,” my husband said. “But it’s not the same! His name is Andrew. It was supposed to be Josiah!” Dramatic much?
I did call him Josiah for the first few days, but it never felt right. His name was Andrew. I had agreed to that name and I needed to embrace it. After a few weeks, it began to feel right and I was able to accept and embrace my son’s name.
Nineteen years later, it seems silly that I was upset with his name. It fits him so perfectly. If I could go back and do it all over again, his name would remain Andrew Josiah.
I’d love to hear the story of how you named your child/ren.
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