What's In a Name?

As someone who struggles with decision-making, choosing a name for my child seemed like an insurmountable requirement, partly because my own given names - Romney Porter - were a source of grief for me growing up. I wasn't "allowed" to play on the monkey bars in Grade 1 because I had a "weird name"; I couldn't find sparkling coloured pencils or souvenir magnets adorned with my name, no matter how hard I looked; and, in later primary school years I was asked on many an occasion by smirking classmates to carry their backpacks. But my embarrassment gradually shifted to pride. My first name was unique and easily recognizable, giving rise to small-world coincidences ("oh, Romney? I know Romney!"), and when asked where it was from, I would answer "from my hippie parents". (This was not entirely true - my naming having occurred in 1979, a number of years after my parents had settled into a more conventional lifestyle, but the answer always brought a smile to the faces of the inquirers.) And my middle name was my mother's maiden name, a name that became even more meaningful to me after the passing of my maternal grandmother.

So when it came time to name my own child, at first I stalled. Then, when the date of his arrival neared, I thought "why not go to the source of my own first name?". My husband and I scoured the very same Name Your Baby book (copyright 1963) that my own parents dog-eared, but nothing jumped out at us. We wrote down a few options. Surely, his name would "just be evident" once we met, face-to-face, for the first time. But the weeks after his birth were... messy. Naming him fell behind figuring out how to keep him - and us - alive.

After weeks of calling him "fussy monkey" and "bubba", we landed on a name, one meaning "a hillside hollow, filled with grass and flowers and sweet perfume". We liked the name - it felt calm and reassuring amidst the storm. But naming him also felt anticlimactic. Disappointing. For days I wondered, "Have we made the right decision?".

I gradually realized, amidst the bouncing and crying and sleepless nights, that it wasn't his name, or even his naming, that was significant; it was his arrival and being in the world that were. How could I have known how much my life would change being a mother? How much I would change? Cliche, but it is the most important, challenging, and fulfilling "job" I will ever have.

Fast-forward a few years, and I was faced with a new dilemma: What to name my new "business"? I convinced myself that I couldn't actually start a business without a name. I waffled. I sketched potential logos. I stalled. Finally, I realized that what was really important was just setting my doubts aside and actually bringing a little business into the world. I settled on "Ococo" in honour of my son who for a brief period in toddlerhood was nicknamed "Coco" by some ("Oh Coco!"). Have I made the right decision? I don't think there is one right decision, unless it's the decision to take a leap and follow a passion, in which case, I definitely have. Thank you for following along.