I really hated my name when I was growing up, and even more so when I discovered that it had not been the first choice for either of my parents; merely something that they had been able to agree on. Even as an adult use of my full first name generally means something 'official' and I prefer a diminutive when with friends.
I really didn't want to get this wrong for my children, and so like most people, I agonised over names for each of them. Was persuaded out of 'Gertie' for my eldest (which is why it is the name I call her on this blog, and, frankly, all for the good upon reflection.) But we chose a name that we both loved, and that had a range of shorter forms if she didn't like it - and then stole all of the female family names for middle names.
For number two we were absolutely settled on a name, and then when he arrived he looked nothing like a 'Joseph', (or a Gilbert or Gabriel, but Hearth-father had already banned those), which resulted in some last minute panicky amendments before the trip to the registrar.
Forgot to even choose a boy's name for the youngest as I was so convinced I was having another girl. And it was only after cuddling 'Edith' for a good few minutes that he was lifted up and we could see parts that made it quite apparent that Edith would be another poor choice of name.
And so it came as no surprise when Edith, or Eddie, (not his real name, of course) suddenly announced this weekend that he didn't like the 'word' of his name and from here on in wanted to be known as 'John'.
Oh well, 'That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet.'
Sigh. Should have stuck a pin in randomly in Cassell's.
Currently reading: Anita and Me by Meera Syal