Little girls like to dream of things like weddings and baby names. I skipped the wedding part and went straight to the baby names. When I was younger, a tween, I had all my baby names picked out.
Three kids. Two girls and a big brother. They were going to be called Cadence, Mia Carys and Tobias.
Mia Carys means ‘My love’ if you mush together a bit of Italian, a dash of Welsh and some artistic license. Pretty much the only reason I liked it.
And I’m also pretty sure this is a contributing factor in my mother’s relief that I wasn’t a teen mom.
A bit younger than that, I always pretended my name was Tamara when I played mermaids in the pool.
And even younger than that, I had an imaginary friend called Emily and a stuffed pony called Katie who went everywhere with me.
I named my cat ‘Ginger’ (because he was), my car ‘Elvis’ (the resemblance is astonishing) and my rabbit ‘Simon’.
I really love names. I really love words and sounds and I like how pretty names roll off the tongue or how someone’s name can set the tone of who we think they are and where they come from.
Since the kid thing is unlikely to happen for another decade or so, I shall simply have to adopt enough pets to use all the names I love to say.
And also, all the names that a real human person would probably deeply resent me for in the future. Like Maeby, a la Arrested Development.
What? I like it.