What's in a (baby) name?

I haven't done any official studies on this, but from observational experience, there are three questions a burgeoning belly inspires most: 1. When are you due? 2. Do you know what you're having? (which inspires my favorite answer: a baby) 3. Do you have a name yet? (with my second-favorite answer: Yes, I've had it since I was a few hours old.)

Obnoxious comments aside, the last question certainly poses the first great challenge of parenthood--for some of us, anyway. Over the years, I've met a few people whom I suspect were given names without much thought. One guy I interviewed several years ago was named T.B. Yep, just T.B. I know a lady who named her daughter after a pharmaceutical company brand printed on a bag of complementary toiletries the hospital gave her after the baby was born. I know people named after soap opera characters, road signs, counties and cities (by the way, Ashley Judd is named for the city of Ashland, Kentucky.)

In the quest for the perfect name for the baby on the way, I've looked to friends, pastors, neighbors, co-workers, the lady behind the counter at Fazoli's (that's an entirely different story involving Drano, spoons and stuff I really don't want to put in black-and-white). I've discovered a world of baby-naming web sites which offer names from around the world. One site even has a "baby naming wizard" which randomly assembles letters into mostly things less pronounceable than the symbol Prince used when he was trying to get out of his record contract. Occasionally, it hits upon consonants and vowels that form real words, but I've not seen any that I'd want to name my child. (Unless, of course, I was a celebrity and wanted to ensure that my child will be forever scarred by answering to some hideous monicker until she's old enough to have it changed legally, if she's out of rehab by then and considered sufficiently mentally competent to petition the court.)

My most frequently consulted source has been the Bible. Names seem to carry great importance in scripture. They seem to me to be given as a gift, as a description of one's faith or hope for the child, or as a story of the circumstances of the child's birth or some personality or physical characteristic, or as a pedigree, announcing the child's lineage.

Today, we don't always think of those weighty things when naming a child. We tend to think more about possible unflattering playground rhymes or infamous forebears of the name, whether in the history books or movie credits. We look for names that make our child seem distinctive or trendy or endearing.

In naming our five-year-old daughter, Meghan, we went with heritage. Meghan is a Celtic name (both my husband and I have Scot/Irish roots), and Elizabeth is a family name. This time around, the naming process has been more difficult. I felt this child, such an unexpected blessing, should have a name that reflects our faith. He wanted to name her after a car. (He was just kidding. I think.)

One friend told me I was thinking too much, and that parental instinct will kick in when we see her little newborn face, and we'll know exactly what to call her. However, I'm a bit concerned about choosing a name befitting a red, wrinkled, pointy-headed infant. (Maybe that's how some celebrity babies got their names.)

Actually, we do have it narrowed down to one front-runner and a couple of back-ups, so the chances are slim that in a few weeks that we will be leaving the hospital with a nameless offspring. In fact, my mother can rest her fears that her beloved granddaughter will be displayed in the nursery with nothing but "girl, 7 pounds, 20 inches" on the index card on her bassinet.

So what's in a baby name, after all? Will she be inspired to greatness, or doomed to some seedy profession, all based on whether or not she started life with a good name? (At least I can be comforted that most of the gals in certain lines of work seem to adopt new names rather than performing with the one their parents gave them.) I think it comes down to this: it should be something with a good meaning, that sounds good when you shout it out the back door or say it tersely in the middle of the grocery store, that's easy to spell in kindergarten, fits on a standard business card, and can't be shortened or rhyme with any body parts or other objectionable words. That's not much to ask, is it? I hope she agrees.