Love, Honor, and Obey by Elizabeth Bastos

by Elizabeth Bastos

What’s in a Name?

Maybe you think giving a baby a name is no big deal, as I did when friends of mine who were pregnant stayed up late, sweated, and argued with their mothers over the spelling of Benjamin. The Hebrew way: Binyamin? Maybe update it? Was Benjahmyn too funky? Who cares, I said. Please! A name is a name! Just pick one.

But let me tell you, now that I’m facing the choice myself, its a big damn deal. It’s the first present you give your baby. This is no time to be careless and/or imaginative. He’ll be called Oscar forever. Unless he’s like Chin, the Chinese exchange student in my high school homeroom who came in after a long weekend and said, I’ve legally changed my name. From now on, call me Mitch. We all thought, Mitch? Isn’t that worse? But we Joshes and Katies and Stevens had no idea how much being the only Chin in Southwestern Pennsylvania sucked. Mitch was a major improvement. It was cool in a pool hall/Iron City beer/my-name’s-Mitch-take-it-or-leave-it kind of way.

The lesson here is that names bring up images. Courage, honesty, creativity, and whether or not someone will be a cardiologist or a makeup designer. Expecting parents believe that choosing a name is a way of choosing the baby’s personality, of doing what we can to improve the genetic odds. If parents feel they are shy and withdrawn academic types, doubtless they’ll choose for their child something robust, like Brad. A “Brad” is a guy’s guy, he plays football, stands up for the Pledge of Allegiance, maybe he’ll become a Marine and move far away. A “Julian” is artistic, sensitive; he has lots of female friends. If things go well, he can become anything he wants. If things go badly, he’ll be moody, live at home, and try to get his poems published.

I leaning toward Nathaniel, spelled just like that. Nothing fancy. Its old fashioned and its strong. Nathaniel is the captain of a boat in the merchant marine, he’s a successful writer with a beautiful, flowing signature. As “Nate,” he’s a fireman who’s an honest, stand-up guy, cherished by the ladies. If he’s gay, I imagine he’ll have a makeup line: Nathaniel B. Lovely, isn’t it? You can just see the streamlined, blue packaging. And I’ll get discounts and skin care tips because I’m his mother and he loves me. He’s not a cardiologist, but I can live with that. I love him, too. I know meetings are a drag, traffic is aggravating, and dishes need to be done. But relax, Mommy. You’re driving me nuts. Can’t I wait to be anxious until after I’m born?

Dear Mommy

Mommy,

The womb is wonderful. It’s nice and plush and tastefully decorated. I can get whatever I like (cupcakes, steak, braised baby bok choy) whenever I want it (usually in the middle of the night). Many thanks!

But sometimes when I’m sleeping or snacking—your heart starts pounding. When I was littler, the size of a bean, I used to wonder what the hell was happening. Now, I’m the size of a gourd and wiser. I know now that you are in a meeting, driving in traffic, or getting mad at Daddy because the dishes are still in the sink.

(Read more...)

Bastos Bio:

Elizabeth Miller Bastos, a displaced Pittsburgher, currently lives in Cambridge, MA with her husband Javier and an assortment of fish and plants. She daylights as a mid-level fundraising executive and moonlights as a freelance writer. Her work has appeared in McSweeney's, The Appalachian Mountain Club Magazine, JewishHistory.com, Poetism.com and in Inkwell Magazine. She can be reached at seapup_3 [at] juno [dot]com.