When I got my first positive pregnancy test result (and right on through the 12th which was taken to be sure the first 11 weren't flukes), I knew that we were having a boy who we would name Jonathan but call Jack. I knew that Jack wasn't normally a nickname for Jonathan and I knew that people would delight in telling us so. I also knew that they wouldn't understand and more importantly, I didn't care what they thought. How could they know what it feels like to want to honor your dead brother by naming your child after him but still let your child have his own name and identity?
Never once have I doubted that Jack was the perfect name for my son. He IS Jack, the quintessential Jack. Natalie could easily be Emily or Abby or Ellie but Jack, no, Jack is nothing but Jack. The name has become very popular since he was born (popular again, I should say, as it has stood the test of time for generations) but to me, there is only one Jack and I knew we'd chosen right from the first time I reached into the isolette and touched his tiny, fragile hand. "Jack" held the promise of the strong, healthy, hearty man my tiny little preemie would one day become.
Natalie's name came from no reason so grand as her brother's. I just happened to really enjoy Nat King Cole's music while I was pregnant with her. Plus, it was a name both Tom and I liked (and Lord knows those were few and far between.) With NKC as a namesake as well as Natalie Merchant and Natalie Maines, I hoped that maybe my newborn daughter would be musical. Little did I know that her path would be towards the more dramatic fine arts. Oy.
We don't know the gender of the baby we lost but I have always felt that he was a boy so I think of him as Nathan. It's a name I always liked but with a Natalie and a JoNATHAN, I couldn't use it for a living child. Instead, I gave it to the child who lives in my heart.
Bonnie, well, if her brother and sister had their way, she'd be Sheemee. Instead, we let Jack come up with an alternative and he chose to name her after the little sister in Pirates Don't Change Diapers. Crazy to give over such a weighty responsibility to a 5 year old? Probably but that's how we roll.
When Jack first came up with it, I loved the name. I thought it was perfect. Then once she was born, I had second thoughts. Serious second thoughts. What if she wanted to be a Serious Person and I stuck her with such a light and fluffy name? What if it kept her from being promoted to head astrophysicist at NASA? What if she ended up a Hooters girl because of it? Ugh.
By that time, it was too late. People had already sent us gifts. Personalized gifts. Jack was telling all and sundry that he'd named "his baby" himself. There was no going back. Bonnie she was, for better or for worse.
I was thinking definitely for worse.
I'd look at her, that tiny little person on my chest and think, "Eleanor? Elizabeth? Allison? Who ARE you?"
She never answered. Big shocker, I know.
But I kept wondering. And wondering.
Now, though, she answers me each day. With every smile, growl and giggle, she tells me, "I'm BONNIE, silly. It's not light and fluffy. It's bright and happy. Just like me. Just like the way I make you feel when you are with me. My name is perfect. Just like me."
You know what? That is one smart kid I have. Her name is perfect just like she is. Just like all of my children are.
1 comment:
Every time I hear "September", I can't help but smile. :)
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