I've been naming my children since I was ten, maybe before that. I went through many, many names before finally deciding on my favorites when I was in high school. Tanner, for a boy, and my girl would be Caris*. I carried those names with me for years. I rattled them off to past boyfriends and every one, perhaps fueled by new relationship appeasement, nodded, smiled and agreed they were good names. I knew in my bones none of those boys would be the father, but I loved that the record was proving the woman seems to have the upper-hand in naming privileges. I was sure, I was certain. Those would be my kids' names.
Then I met Mike.
The day I met him, he had a torn piece of paper in his wallet with names he liked written on it. Taylor, Tyler, Jordan.
"You've already named your kids?"
"Uh, I like those names, yeah."
"I have too."
"Really, what are they?"
"Tanner, for a boy."
"That's an awful name."
"Caris, for a girl."
"Maybe the worst name I've ever heard."
My heart sunk. Even then, I knew I wanted him to be the dad.
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When we found out I was pregnant, the first fight we had was over the name.
I accepted my first picks weren't going to fly. I accepted there would have to be compromise. I accepted my husband was a stubborn, frustrating man who has way more opinions over his kid's names than any of my past boyfriends. Huh, all those wrong-for-me boys weren't looking quite so incompatible when I was three months pregnant and screaming at Mike, "WHAT IS WRONG WITH ETHAN?"
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I went to Texas A&M. Our stadium -- picked best in the Big 12 plenty of times -- is called Kyle Field. The first time I set foot in the place, I thought, Huh, Kyle? I like that name. It'd be cool to marry an Aggie and name our son Kyle.
Then I thought, No chance in hell is that actually going to happen. Besides, he'll be Tanner.
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Right after we got pregnant:
"What about Kyle? I love Kyle. It's short, it's easy to spell, it's not too common but not too "where'd they come up with THAT name?"
"Um. Yeah, that's not bad, but I like Parker better."
"I like Kyle better. AND I'M THE ONE CARRYING THE BABY, MY GOD THROW ME A BONE."
"Please stop yelling."
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The morning of our revealing-the-sex ultrasound, we were standing at the door STILL arguing over our kid's name. Finally, exasperated, he turned to me and said, "OK, if it's a boy, you can name him. If it's a girl, I'll name her."
"Deal."
"Pinky promise."
"Done."
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The ultrasound tech turned the monitor toward us and said, "See that, right there."
"IT'S A BOY!" I screamed. I had seen enough boy u/s pictures to know precisely what I was looking at.
Mike beamed. We laughed and kissed. There wasn't real shock, actually. I always knew it was a boy, in my bones, the way you just know things from time to time.
"He's Kyle," I said as I looked Mike square in the eyes.
"He's Kyle," he said, slightly defeated but still smiling, still happy.
Kyle Parker he became. Kyle Parker he has always been.
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So, how did your kid's name come to be what you wrote on the birth certificate? And what is it or what would you like it to be?
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*I've never met anyone else who likes the name Caris (other than all those agreeable boys I dated and Michael Douglas and Catherine Zeta-Jones). If you like it, steal it. It's too beautiful a name not to be used by someone I know, someday.