Before I was pregnant, I knew what we would name our next child. I had a handful of unused favorites from our name-list for Reed. And now and again I would run into a girl name that seemed just right. But I didn’t know our baby, yet, and the moment I found out I was pregnant, I knew none of the names I had would do. She is not an Olive. He is not an Alden. (Sigh. I really loved “Alden.” It means “old friend,” you know. Isn’t it nice to call your son an old friend?)
So I left our old lists in Reed’s baby book where they belonged and began making new ones. I have of course learned by now that these lists are pointless. What we do is this: I make lists and lists of names and know all the pros and cons and meanings and popularities. I present them to Adam and he says which he likes and which he doesn’t like. He won’t think about it at all. Until all of a sudden out of the blue, he’ll say it. The name. He’ll say it once and that will be it. We won’t talk about it. I might even make up a few more lists. But we both will know. That’s the name. That’s our child.