How We Finally Agreed on a Baby Name After 8 Months of Fighting
How We Finally Agreed on a Baby Name After 8 Months of Fighting
The Opening Salvo
The first time my husband suggested Maverick, I laughed. I thought he was joking. Tom Cruise, Top Gun, aviator sunglasses—surely this was husband humor, the kind where you suggest something absurd to make your real suggestion sound reasonable by comparison.
He was not joking.
'It means independent thinker,' he said, earnestly. 'Someone who doesn't follow the crowd.'
'It means our child will spend his entire life explaining that yes, his parents really named him after a movie,' I replied.
This was month one of pregnancy. We had eight more months ahead of us. And this, as it turned out, was the easy part of our disagreement.
What followed was the most sustained argument of our marriage—not explosive fights, but grinding, endless, exhausting negotiations over something we'd never expected to disagree about so fundamentally. We loved each other. We agreed on almost everything. And we could not, for the life of us, agree on what to name our child.
This is the story of how we finally got there. Not because we're experts—we're absolutely not—but because when I was in the depths of naming despair, I desperately wished someone had told me this was normal. That eight months of conflict didn't mean our marriage was failing. That we would, eventually, find our way to a name we both loved.
We did. Here's how.
The First Conversation Disaster
Why starting naming discussions early isn't always better.
The Assumptions We Made
I assumed my husband and I had similar taste. We agreed on house décor (modern, minimal), vacation style (adventurous, budget-conscious), and restaurant preferences (anything with good reviews). Surely naming would be the same alignment.
Wrong.
My taste: Classic names with literary connections. Eleanor, after Eleanor Roosevelt and Pride and Prejudice. Theodore, for the poetry. Charlotte, because it sounds like someone who reads books in window seats.
His taste: Bold names with action-hero energy. Maverick. Axel. Blaze. Names that sound like they should be yelled across a football field or tattooed on a bicep.
These preferences are not compatible. There is no Venn diagram overlap between 'Eleanor' and 'Blaze.'
The Tone Problem
Our first conversation went badly because we both assumed the other would defer. He mentioned Maverick; I laughed. I mentioned Eleanor; he made a face like I'd suggested we name our child Gertrude.
'Eleanor is old-fashioned,' he said.
'Maverick is ridiculous,' I said.
Neither of us was wrong, exactly. But neither of us was listening.
The Stakes Escalation
What started as casual conversation became territorial. Every name one of us liked became a stand-in for our entire worldview. My preference for classic names meant I was stuck in the past, afraid of individuality. His preference for bold names meant he wanted our child to be a character rather than a person.
We weren't discussing names anymore. We were discussing who had better judgment, better taste, better vision for our child's future. Which is way too much weight for any name to carry.
The Spreadsheet Era
When rational approaches made everything worse.
The Logic Trap
I'm a project manager. My husband is an engineer. When we couldn't agree through conversation, we did what our professional training taught us: we created systems.
- The master spreadsheet: Every name we encountered, rated 1-10 by each of us
- The criteria matrix: Meaning, sound, popularity, family significance, nickname potential—weighted and scored
- The veto column: Hard no's that couldn't be negotiated
This was, theoretically, objective. If a name scored 7+ from both of us, it advanced to the shortlist. Mathematical. Rational. Fair.
Why It Failed
The spreadsheet revealed something uncomfortable: we had almost no overlap. Out of 200+ names, exactly three scored above 6 from both of us: James, Clara, and Henry. All fine names. None that made either of us excited.
The problem with systematizing naming is that names aren't rational. You can't logic your way into loving a name. A name is high or it doesn't. Spreadsheets can't capture that.
Also, the spreadsheet became a weapon. 'You rated Maverick a 3? You didn't even give it a chance.' 'You gave Eleanor a 4? That's barely passing.' The numbers that were supposed to remove emotion became new things to argue about.
The False Objectivity
There's no objective measure of a good name. Popularity data seems objective, but 'too popular' and 'not popular enough' are subjective judgments. Meaning seems objective, but whether 'warrior' is better than 'wise' is purely preference.
We abandoned the spreadsheet in month four. It had generated 200 names and zero progress.
The Family Input Mistake
How involving others made everything worse.
The Mother-in-Law Incident
In a moment of desperation, I asked my mother-in-law for her opinion. 'What names do you like for a boy?'
She suggested Robert, after her father. My husband's eyes lit up. Finally, an ally! A family name! Meaning and significance!
I hate the name Robert. I have hated every Robert I've ever met. The name sounds like someone who corrects your grammar and votes against library funding.
But now rejecting Robert meant rejecting my husband's grandfather. The stakes had escalated from 'name preference' to 'family honor.' I was no longer just vetoing a name; I was insulting his lineage.
The Friend Poll Disaster
I made the opposite mistake with my friends. I sent our shortlist to five close friends asking for 'honest feedback.'
They delivered:
- 'Theodore is so pretentious.'
- 'James is fine but boring.'
- 'Henry? Like the vacuum?'
- 'Clara is cute but very 'influencer mom' right now.'
- 'Why are all your names so... old?'
Thanks, friends. Very helpful. Now I didn't just disagree with my husband; I disagreed with everyone.
The Social Media Mistake
In month six, I made the worst mistake: I posted on a parenting forum asking for opinions on 'Maverick vs. Theodore.'
Three hundred comments later, I had learned: both names are terrible, we should consider nature names, family names are the only appropriate choice, family names are outdated pressure, popular names are lazy, unpopular names are cruel, and someone's cousin named Maverick is now in prison.
Never, ever crowdsource your naming decision. Everyone has opinions. None of them will be your child's parent.
The Breakthrough Moment
What finally shifted our dynamic.
The Exhaustion Point
Month seven. We were tired. Tired of fighting, tired of discussing, tired of the name topic entirely. My husband suggested we just not talk about it for two weeks. Complete moratorium. No names, no lists, no opinions.
I agreed, mostly because I was so exhausted I couldn't form another naming argument if I tried.
The Unexpected Conversation
During the moratorium, we went for a long drive. No agenda, just time together that wasn't about baby preparation. Somewhere on a rural highway, he said: 'I don't actually care that much about Maverick.'
I nearly crashed the car.
'What?'
'I mean, I like it. But I've been pushing it because you hated it so much. It became about winning, not about the name.'
I sat with that. And then I admitted: 'I've been pushing Eleanor partly because you made that face when I suggested it. I wanted to prove it was a good name.'
We had been arguing about winning, not naming.
The Real Conversation
With egos temporarily set aside, we asked different questions:
- 'What feeling do you want the name to give?'
- 'When you imagine calling our child, what do you hear?'
- 'What kind of person do you imagine when you hear a name you love?'
He didn't want a warrior name. He wanted a name that felt strong, confident, like someone who wouldn't be pushed around. The specific name mattered less than that feeling.
I didn't need a literary name. I wanted something that felt substantial, like a real person rather than a trend. Classic was a means to that end, not the end itself.
Strong. Confident. Substantial. Real.
Suddenly we had shared criteria.
What Actually Worked
The approaches that led to agreement.
Feeling Over Features
Instead of debating specific names, we debated feelings. Not 'Is Theodore good?' but 'Does Theodore feel strong and substantial?' This depersonalized the discussion. We weren't attacking each other's taste; we were evaluating against shared criteria.
The 72-Hour Rule
Any name that made the shortlist had to sit there for 72 hours before discussion. This prevented reactive enthusiasm and reactive rejection. Names that seemed perfect at 2am sometimes felt wrong after three days of imagining them.
The Nickname Test
We imagined each name in real situations:
- 'Time for dinner, [name]!'
- 'This is my son/daughter, [name].'
- '[Nickname], stop hitting your sister.'
- '[Name], you're grounded.'
- 'Congratulations on your graduation, [name].'
Some names passed the baby test but failed the adult test. Some sounded great in formal contexts but awkward yelled across a playground. The name that worked in all scenarios rose to the top.
The Veto Respect
We established hard veto rights. If one of us truly hated a name, it was off the table, no arguments. This prevented the exhausting relitigating of rejected names. Once vetoed, a name was gone forever.
The Meaning Compromise
We agreed to care about meaning but not require perfect meaning. The name didn't have to mean exactly 'strong and wise warrior poet of the mountains.' It just couldn't mean something bad. This loosened our constraints significantly.
Our Final Choice
How we got to yes.
The Name That Emerged
After all that, our son is named Alexander.
It's not Maverick. It's not Eleanor (obviously, for a boy). It's not even on any shortlist we created in months one through six.
Alexander emerged from our breakthrough conversation. Strong? Yes—it literally means 'defender of people.' Substantial? Alexander the Great, Alexander Hamilton, centuries of Alexanders who accomplished things. Not trendy? Popular but timeless—people have named sons Alexander for millennia and will continue to.
And crucially: we could both imagine yelling 'Alex, dinner!' across a house and feel good about it.
The Moment of Agreement
I don't remember who suggested it first. It might have been me; it might have been him. What I remember is the absence of argument. Neither of us said 'but.' We just... nodded. Then smiled. Then, I think, cried a little.
Eight months of fighting, and the answer was a name that had never been on any list. A name we found when we stopped trying to win and started trying to agree.
The Afterward
Our son is two now. He's absolutely an Alex. The name fits him in ways we couldn't have predicted—the strength, the substance, the confidence. Whether names shape children or children shape how we see names, I don't know. But I can't imagine him being anyone else.
Frequently Asked Questions
Q1: How long did it actually take?
Eight months from first conversation to final decision, but the productive conversations happened in the last six weeks. The first six months were mostly unproductive argument, systematic approaches that didn't work, and external opinions that complicated everything. Once we understood what we were actually looking for—shared feelings rather than shared specific preferences—agreement came relatively quickly.
Q2: What if you truly can't agree?
We almost got there. At our most frustrated, we discussed: one parent picks the first name, the other picks the middle name. Or: one parent picks for the first child, the other for the second. These are real strategies that work for couples who genuinely can't compromise. The key is agreeing on the system before reaching an impasse, so it doesn't feel like one person 'lost.'
Q3: Was it worth all the stress?
No. Honestly, no. We could have reached the same answer in month two if we'd had the breakthrough conversation then instead of month seven. Most of our conflict was ego-driven positional bargaining, not genuine disagreement about values. The stress taught us things about our communication patterns, which is valuable, but I wish we'd learned them cheaper. If you're in month one and already fighting, skip to the 'what feeling do you want' conversation. Save yourself six months of spreadsheets.
Q4: Any regrets about the name?
None about Alexander. Some regret that we didn't find a way to honor family—neither Robert nor Eleanor made it in. But middle name negotiations are a whole other story, and we used that space for family significance. Alexander Robert [Lastname]. Everyone wins, eventually.
Q5: What would you do differently?
Start with feelings, not names. Ask 'what kind of name do you want?' before 'what name do you want?' Establish hard veto rights immediately. Never involve family or friends or the internet. And take breaks. The two-week moratorium saved our marriage more than any conversation did.
The Name Is Just the Beginning
Here's what I learned from eight months of naming conflict: the name matters, but the process matters more.
The name your child carries is important. It's their first gift from you, their first piece of identity. You should care about it. You should fight for what you believe.
But the process of naming teaches you how to make decisions together as parents. Every disagreement after this one—sleep training, school choices, discipline approaches—will require the same skills. Can you articulate what you actually want? Can you hear what your partner actually wants? Can you find creative solutions that honor both?
If you can name a baby together, you can parent a child together. The name is practice.
Our son Alexander is named for defenders of people. But he's also named for the moment his parents stopped fighting and started collaborating. That's the meaning that matters most.
May your naming journey be shorter than ours. And may it end with a name you both love.
Find your compromise name on SoulSeed—where every name can become the right name.
