As soon as I discovered the genders of my sons, I was flooded with ideas for their names. The name for my first son was an easy choice: Ethan, after my cherished maternal grandfather who had passed away a few years earlier. However, we were uncertain about his middle name. We considered using my paternal grandfather’s name, but we also thought about my husband’s grandfather, who had shared a deep bond with him.
In our enthusiasm, we discussed our name ideas with family, inviting their thoughts. The reactions were unexpected—everyone had strong opinions, some even emotional. While I understood the sentiment tied to beloved family members, I underestimated the pressure certain relatives would exert regarding our choices. Ultimately, we settled on my husband’s grandfather’s name for the middle name. It was a combination of personal preference, familial connection, and the weight of external expectations.
This experience was just the beginning of receiving unsolicited advice on parenting from family—covering everything from sleep habits to feeding practices. Over time, I grew a thicker skin and became more confident in my choices as a parent. However, when it came time to name our second child, I once again made the error of involving family in the discussions.
Why Hadn’t I Learned My Lesson?
This time, we weren’t trying to honor anyone who had passed; we simply wanted a nice, straightforward name. Our options included names like Simon, Charlie, and Noah—nothing too unconventional. We were leaning toward Noah, inspired by the stories we read to our older son. It just felt right.
Still undecided, we casually mentioned “Noah” to our families. Some were supportive, others indifferent, and a few outright rejected the name. Not just a mild “not my favorite,” but a firm “Please don’t name him that.” I was taken aback and didn’t even think to ask why. I felt so uncomfortable that I excused myself, locked myself in the bathroom, and cried.
Reflecting on it now, it seems overly dramatic, but I was certain our son was a Noah. The harsh criticism stung, especially since I was hormonal. That very night, my labor began.
While the name discussions didn’t overshadow my labor experience, they lingered in the back of my mind. I was still processing how upset I felt about my family’s harsh rejection of our name choice. When our son finally arrived, with one eye sealed shut and a charming crooked jaw, we affectionately dubbed him “Scooter.”
An hour later, our older son came to meet his new sibling and immediately asked us what we had decided to name him. He had been part of the discussions, but I wasn’t sure how much he had absorbed. When we told him we hadn’t settled on a name yet, he looked at us incredulously. “His name is Noah,” he proclaimed, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
That settled it, and we were thrilled to name him Noah. As for those family members who had disapproved, they never brought it up again. Once Noah was born, that was his name, and there were no further debates.
I can’t entirely blame my family for expressing their views; perhaps they could have been more open-minded. However, we were the ones who shared our name options, and while we weren’t explicitly asking for feedback, we should have anticipated it.
Ultimately, the decision regarding your child’s name—like many parenting choices—should rest solely with you and your partner. No one else’s opinion should hold sway. We’re not discussing something outrageous here—just a name. If I could turn back time, I would keep my plans completely private, sharing nothing with anyone.
Conclusion
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