but a strange phenomenon has occurred repeatedly since we made our big decision. On telling people that our son is called Finn the conversation invariably takes one of the following turns:
"Oh how lovely, I have a grandson/nephew/third cousin twice removed called Finlay"
"I love the name Finlay"
"Hello Finlay, what a great name you have"
now, I have nothing specifically against the name Finlay, however it is not the name we picked for our son. It is not the name we agonised over, rowed over and eventually came together a parents on. My son is called Finn. His birth certificate documents this. Any assumption that we named him something else entirely grates on me, and the extent to which it does so is invariably linked to how sleep deprived I am (currently, we are co-habiting with a newborn who is still waking three times a night. You do the math).
and now it has begun afresh. When I fell pregnant a second time, we were convinced that once again we would be adding to the all male Dobson sports team. We started revisiting the boys names we had touched upon the first time around, and had in fact reached a shortlist. However, our deliberations had to begin again from scratch when it was confirmed that I had in fact managed to crack the Dobson DNA - this was to be a little girl and it was therefore necessary to deliberate over a whole new set of names. And once again wheel out that right to veto. But we did it, and a name was not only agreed, but embraced by the pair of us.
now, with Beth not yet a month old I have already lost count of the number of times I have had to correct those people who are sure that what I actually meant to say was "this is Beth, short for Bethany" or, we call her Beth but she will be christened Elizabeth" (incidentally, she is unlikely to be christened anything if my lefty, agnostic principles win the toss again as they did with Finn, but that's probably best left for another day's blog). It is as if I am being gently corrected on my children's names by people who think that this sleep deprived mother is simply unable to get them quite right, and therefore needs a gentle little nudge in the right direction.
it's a seemingly little thing in the grand scheme of huge and important things we must overcome as parents - it's not a safety issue or a matter of life or death. The kids will inevitably learn to deal with this in the way that best suits them (and their particular mood at the time) - hell it might not bother them in the slightest. But for me, knowing the time spent and efforts exerted that coming to a common ground with MD took, it's an irritation that sits firmly on my last nerve each and every time I encounter it.