When my mother was pregnant with me 42 years ago, her doctor told her that, based on how she was carrying, I was a boy.  So, it was quite the shock when I, their first child, arrived sans the male genitalia. 

My parents had agreed on a name for their expected son, but, having welcomed a daughter, they needed to reconvene.  In their discussions, my mother said she liked the name Kathy, but my father vetoed the name, saying that he had an old girlfriend named Kathy, and he didn’t want her to think he’d named his daughter Kathy because he was still thinking about her.

In the end, they combined the first names of my two grandmothers, so I’m Mary Katherine.  After a year of being called Mary Katherine, a mouthful, my grandmother Katherine, who went by Kay, started shortening my name to Mary Kay in the letters she wrote to my mom, and it caught on.  But, for most of my life, I have been Mary Kaye, for I added the “e” in second grade, I think.

I never liked my name, pining for a normal name exactly like Kathy, the name of two other girls in my grade school class.  My friends and I tried to think of a cool nickname, some combination of Mary and Kaye, but the best we could come up with was Macky, not a viable option.  Of course, it’s never cool to nickname yourself, but, others have called me Mare, Mary and M.  And, for the past 11 years, since moving to Chicago, I’ve been M.K., for, regardless of how many times I introduced myself as Mary Kaye, my new acquaintances and friends would respond by calling me M.K. instead. 

Of course, as an adult, I recognize that Mary Katherine is a beautiful name, especially within an Irish Roman Catholic family.  But, as a kid, I just wanted to blend in with one name, not a double one.

Now that I am a parent, I fully recognize the difficulty of selecting a child’s name. 

When I started trying to get pregnant on my own in 2003, I was absolute in my decision about what my baby’s name would be if he were a boy, and, being single, I didn’t anticipate being faced with any reason to change my mind.

I had picked a strong, traditional, blatantly boy name that is not only my father’s, but also one of my four brothers’.  It has three variations, which I felt would accommodate not only whatever my future son’s personality would be like, but also his preferences as he grew from little boy, to big boy, to teenager, to man. 

But, nine days before I got pregnant via insemination with donor sperm, I met the man who is now my husband.  He was divorced with two sons, then ages 8 and 10.  And, his oldest son is named the exact same name I had chosen. 

At my 20-week ultrasound, I found out that I was having a son, which presented a dilemma:  I loved this man I was dating, and we believed we had a future together, so, if I stood my ground on my son’s name, we would have ended up with two sons with the same name, as in, “Hi, this is our son Bobby, and this is our other son Bobby.” 

Believing in our relationship, I gave up my first-choice name, and, after looking through a baby-name book, latched on to John, which means “God is gracious,” because I felt so blessed to finally be pregnant after seven intrauterine insemination (IUI) cycles.  But, recognizing the complications involved with naming my son John Kennedy, I decided to name him Sean, the Irish form of John, which has the same meaning.

The day after making this decision, I called one of my brothers to wish him a happy birthday.  He asked if I had come up with any names, now that I knew I was having a boy.  I told him I’d decided on Sean. 

“That’s the name of my second son,” he said, although his wife wasn’t pregnant.  “Sean Ryan.”

“Oh,” I said.  I was going to name my baby Sean Patrick.”

Not wanting to create family conflict, I gave up on Sean.  FYI:  My brother and his wife never had that second son, but two daughters instead. 

But, regardless, the name I ultimately chose for my son, a name suggested by my then-boyfriend/now-husband, is perfect for him.  Apparently, it’s the perfect name for a lot of little boys, for, of the seven boys in my son’s preschool class, three have his name.  Yet, when I decided to name him, I’d only known one guy, a nice guy from high school, with the name.  Oh well… 

Pregnant with another son, the fourth in my husband’s and my blended family, the naming issue now is much more complicated.  While my husband, then my boyfriend, was hands-off when I was trying to select a name for my son five years ago, as this baby’s biological father, he is actively involved with the process. 

Two of our three sons, now ages 15, 14 and almost 5, are either begging or demanding to be able to name the baby.  Our 15-year-old wants to name the baby Vlad, which, according to him, is a “sexy vampire name.”  Our 4-year-old is adamant that the baby’s name will be Luke, a downgrade from his initial request of Luke Skywalker.

My problem is the same as one faced by my father in 1968, when I was born, yet it is much larger in magnitude, for I dated from age 15 to age 36, 21 years before meeting my husband.  My husband’s suggested the name he thinks is best, and I’ve told him that’s the name of my former fiancé, which is, for me, the one name that is absolutely off limits.  After all, if we’d a daughter, we would never have named her the same name as his ex-wife.    

My husband has suggested another name, and I’ve stated that it’s the name of another serious boyfriend.  And, I have six more, if I go through my dating history, only counting those boys or men with whom I was serious.

And, let’s not get into the names of my former male pets, all of which are traditional human names…

Limiting the decision to just my husband and me, the parents of this baby I’m carrying, prior associations with names can rule some out.  Then, of course, we both have personal preferences, liking some names and despising others.  While I love the name Luke, for example, having selected it as one of my final choices for my 4-year-old son, my husband doesn’t. 

At least we agree that we’ll name our son a traditional, obviously boy name.  And, considering I haven’t had any additional pre-term bleeding in almost three weeks, giving us hope that our baby boy will be born at term, we may have ample time to figure this baby naming thing out.