What’s wrong with my baby’s name? [FULL STORY]

Searching for a New Name

After she left I sat at my laptop searching for other names that sounded similar to Gwen or had the same meaning. I typed out lists of names like Gwyneth and Gwendalin and Gwyavir but each one felt wrong when I said them out loud.

It was like betraying the daughter I’d been imagining since I was 12 years old but I kept looking anyway because I had to find something. Ryan came home from work and found me surrounded by baby name books and printouts from websites.

He sat down next to me and suggested maybe we could keep Gwen as her middle name but never use it publicly. I thought about it for a minute but then realized her full name would still show up on the school records and at doctor offices and anywhere else official paperwork was needed.

The idea of teachers seeing it on their class lists or other parents noticing it on forms made me feel sick. The next morning the phone rang and it was the pediatrician’s office calling to schedule our two-week checkup.

The receptionist asked for the baby’s name to put in their system and she stumbled over saying Gwen when I told her. She asked me twice if she had the spelling right and I could hear how uncomfortable she was even saying it out loud.

I told her we were actually in the process of changing it and she sounded so relieved.

Finding Support

Later that week I found a support group for new mothers that met at the community center on Wednesdays. I bundled up the baby and drove over there hoping to connect with other moms going through the normal struggles of having a newborn.

When we went around the circle introducing ourselves I just said:

“This is my daughter”

Instead of using her name and everyone seemed relieved that I didn’t make them uncomfortable. One mom even smiled at me like she understood what I was going through.

That evening my cousin texted me a bunch of screenshots from social media where people in our neighborhood were gossiping about my choice to name the baby Gwen. She said she’d been defending me and telling people I didn’t know about the accident but they were all discussing whether I did it on purpose for attention.

Some people were saying I must be a terrible person to choose that name and others were wondering if I had mental health issues. Reading through all the comments made me feel like the whole community was against me.

At 3:00 in the morning I was sitting in the rocking chair feeding the baby when everything just hit me all at once. I started sobbing about losing the name I’d carried in my heart since I was 12 years old and how unfair it all was.

Ryan heard me crying and came in to wrap his arms around both of us while I cried into his shoulder. He kept promising we’d find something beautiful that wouldn’t hurt her and that the name didn’t matter as much as our love for her.

Letting Go to Protect Her

The next day the social worker from the hospital called to follow up on how we were doing. She offered counseling services for what she called difficult postpartum decisions and kept emphasizing that changing a name doesn’t change how much you love your daughter.

She gave me the number for a therapist who specialized in helping new parents work through unexpected challenges. After I hung up I went into the nursery and pulled out a fresh notebook.

I started writing a long letter to my daughter about the name Gwen and what it had meant to me all those years. I wrote about how I’d picked it when I was 12 after reading about a character in a book who was brave and smart and kind.

I explained how I’d imagined calling her name at the park and signing it on birthday cards and cheering it at her graduation. I told her about finding out why everyone reacted so badly and how I had to let go of the name to protect her from a lifetime of pain.

I wrote that she was always wanted and loved no matter what we called her. When I finished writing I folded the letter carefully and sealed it in an envelope to give her when she was older so she’d understand everything that happened.

The Truth Unveiled

My mother showed up at the door the next afternoon carrying a thick baby name book with colorful tabs sticking out from dozens of pages. She’d marked every name that started with G and had similar sounds to Gwen and we sat at the kitchen table going through each one while the baby slept in her bassinet next to us.

Her eyes got watery when she saw me writing down possibilities on a notepad and trying them out loud to see how they felt in my mouth. She kept squeezing my hand and finally said she should have told me the truth from the beginning instead of hoping I’d figure it out myself.

Ryan came home from work looking exhausted and sat down heavily at the table before telling me his coworkers had been asking all week if we’d really gone through with naming the baby Gwen. His manager had sent out a department email about maintaining professional communication after someone made a joke about child killers in the breakroom that made another employee cry.

He showed me the email on his phone and I could see it was carefully worded to avoid mentioning our situation directly but everyone would know what it was about. That night I stayed up searching deeper into the case and found an old social media profile for the convicted woman that listed her hometown as just two streets over from where we live now.

Her parents still lived in the neighborhood according to property records which explained why everyone’s reaction was so intense since they probably worried we were related to her or trying to make some kind of sick statement. The next day I went back to the library to print more articles and the librarian who’d been helping me access the archives asked if I needed to talk to someone about what I was going through.

She mentioned her daughter had been in the same grade as one of the victims and pulled me into a hug when I started crying right there between the stacks. At my six-week checkup the doctor kept glancing at my chart while asking how I was handling everything with the baby and if I needed any extra support.

She wrote me a referral for a therapist who specialized in postpartum issues and identity challenges saying it might help to talk to someone neutral about the whole situation.

Finding Gwyneth

I spent the next 3 days going through name websites and baby books until I finally found Gwyneth which felt close enough to keep some connection to my original choice but different enough that nobody would make the association. Ryan’s whole body relaxed when I told him and he immediately agreed it was perfect pulling me into his arms and saying we could finally move forward.

We drove to the Vital Records office that Friday where a clerk helped us fill out the amendment paperwork and though she didn’t ask any questions she gave me an encouraging smile when she saw we were changing from Gwen to Gwyneth. I sent a group text to my family with just the word:

“Gwyneth”

Within minutes my phone was flooded with heart emojis and relief messages from everyone. My sister texted separately that she could finally post photos of the baby on social media without worrying about people recognizing the name and causing problems.

The HR meeting I’d been dreading turned out better than expected when they apologized for the threatening tone of the earlier conversation but explained that three employees had actual panic attacks when they heard we’d chosen that name. We worked out an understanding that I wouldn’t discuss the original name at work and they’d make sure everyone treated me normally when I returned from maternity leave.

My mother-in-law came by that weekend with a soft pink blanket she’d had embroidered with Gwyneth in beautiful script letters and even though it stung seeing physical proof that Gwen was really gone I appreciated her trying to show support for the change.

Healing Through Therapy

The therapist’s office had plain white walls and a brown couch that squeaked when I sat down for my first appointment 2 weeks later. She asked me to start from the beginning so I told her everything about loving the name since I was 12 and how nobody would explain what was wrong when I got to the part about finally finding out about the drunk driver who killed those kids.

Her face stayed calm but she wrote something in her notebook. She asked how I felt about Ryan not telling me and I surprised myself by saying I was mad at him really mad actually because he could have saved us all this pain by just explaining from the start instead of letting me look crazy to everyone.

The therapist nodded and said it was normal to feel angry when someone withholds important information even if they think they’re protecting us. Ryan started seeing his own therapist the next week after I told him how upset I was that he kept quiet.

He came home from his first session looking tired but said the therapist helped him see he has a pattern of avoiding hard conversations that goes way back. His therapist gave him homework to practice having one difficult conversation each week starting with telling his mom about a work problem he’d been hiding.

The new mom’s support group met every Thursday at the community center and I finally worked up the nerve to share our story at my fourth meeting. The other women listened without judgment and one mom said she had to change her son’s name after finding out it was the same as her husband’s affair partner from years ago.

Another woman changed her daughter’s middle name when she learned it belonged to a relative who’d abused her as a child. They all understood having to let go of something you thought was perfect and it helped to know I wasn’t alone in this.