This week, former Love Islanders Molly-Mae Hagen and her partner Tommy Fury came under fire for their unusual choice of baby name.
Poor little Bambi Fury is only days old and has already felt the wrath of internet trolls decrying her name as a travesty, outrageous, and downright irresponsible.
When we found out we were having a boy, I was fully decided on Ted’s name. Part of the reason I liked Ted was that I felt it couldn’t be shortened, but it turns out if you throw an ‘o’ at the end you have yourself a nickname which would be socially acceptable on any Dublin GAA club football team.
Leading up to the main event, Darling Husband did offer some suggestions on the name of our baby, and I entertained them as a point of courtesy. That being said, I also dismissed them pretty quickly because after going through the physical and emotional trauma of childbirth, the least a mammy deserves is getting dibs on the moniker.
Every now and again we will be driving along and DH will announce his preference for future appellatives should the opportunity to ‘go again’ arise in the future. On Wednesday such a casual conversation regarding potential baby names went a little something like this:
“George is a nice name, isn’t it,” DH posited as George Ezra blared from our battered car radio.
“Oh, you quite like George,” I said before continuing: “As much as I value your input darling, I also quite liked not having urinary incontinence pre-baby, so I guess what I’m saying is we are all having to adjust our expectations here.”
DH made a face — which I could only describe as akin to dry-retching and took the feedback on board.
“Fair point, well made,” he replied, turning up the business news in an attempt to delete the last few moments from his short-term memory.
WHAT’S IN A NAME?
When I was a teacher, most names came with a bit of baggage. You might like a name, but also associate it with a student who once threw an onion at you, called you a horrible name, or more terrifyingly still, asked you to explain the Tuiseal Ginideach.
It is so hard to give your smallie a title because it will be attached to them forever, in whatever wonderful adventure they find themselves. Our names are intensely important because they denote who we are, they place us in the world, taking us from babyhood to adulthood and being a rare thread of constant in a life that is never linear.
The stakes are so high when it comes to choosing a name that all well-intentioned parents can do is run through an inventory of more obvious slaggings, unfortunate rhymes, and inappropriate connotations and go with one not particularly problematic. Yet, even trying to ward off potential name mockery is pointless because the nature of childhood is that you will, at some point, be picked on for something, so as parents all we can do is go with something we like and hope for the best.
Last month, Kylie Jenner came in for a similar ribbing when the name of her little boy — Aire — was revealed as meaning ‘penis’ in Arabic. Having been originally baptised Wolfe, the child has already had his name changed once, so the odds of a third attempt are slim, but the connotations are, as we say in the biz, ‘pretty unfortch’. That being said, given that there are 7,000 languages in the world today, I’m sure most names mean ‘penis’ in some vernacular.
I still shudder when my mother reminds me if I had been a boy I would have been called Barry (she was a big fan of the
