The name of the baby

The life of Tess Hoens is amazing, but even she has things that don't quite go as she had hoped. And she wants to write about that. Because there is already enough of a facade and because honesty helps. Tess has a desire for children, but getting pregnant is still not working. This week she reflects on the name of the baby.

We walk into Scheltema as I confess to my friend that I have told Sanne and others our good news. Because yes, in a short time I had already shared it with quite a few more people. It was so hard to keep my mouth shut. I felt so proud. Especially at work, where everyone knows about the process we are in and is so concerned about me.

‘You can decide for yourself then, I don't want to tell my friends yet.’ He knows that I would like him to share it with his surroundings without me having to say it. We step onto the escalator towards the second floor, where the educational books are. A book about pregnancy. A book that tells one story and not hundreds, like Google. A book from which I can follow rules about eating, exercising, and more things I now have to deal with differently. The choice is huge and we have no idea where to start.

Eventually, we end up with a thick and large copy that states that I can eat sushi. Sushi is kind of my favorite food, so a book close to my heart. Later it turns out that it was written by two Belgian women and that in Belgium, pregnant women live a lot less strictly (read: neurotically).

Just before we go to pay, my friend grabs a smaller book from the shelf. ‘10,000 boys’ and girls' names’. There must be something in there.

Ever since I was a toddler, I have fantasized about my future children and what I will name them. It's a quirk, I know. I have made entire lists, gone through various phases. From classic names to names that, when I read them back now, could come straight from camp. Foreign names and quintessentially Dutch names. In the last few years, my list has been significantly shortened and I was sure I had the best collection. But now that I am pregnant, I look at my list and find everything stupid. Or at least certainly not good enough for my new favorite person.

At home on the couch, we start with the thousands of boys' names. Enthusiastically with a pencil in my mouth, I read all the pages aloud (you might think that would be difficult, but in my enthusiasm, it goes quite well), some names need to be spelled out. I start scratching, underlining, and flipping through, based on his comments. There are so many names, but there is nothing that makes our hearts stop. Of which we think: yes, this is our child.

That evening we go out to eat and while I scour the menu for things I can eat, he suddenly mentions a name we had talked about before, but which suddenly comes up again.

Yes, if we have a boy, he will be named that. And my friend, who might be even more involved with this pregnancy than I am, whether he shares it with others or not.

Written by: Tess Hoens