The Power of a Name

Like any expectant parents, we had gone back and forth on names for our soon to be born child. We had a boy name picked out. Max was a name we both really liked so that was easy. But a girl name eluded us. We wrote lists and then crossed them all out. We even got a book full of names. The more names we looked at, the further we seemed to be from deciding on a girl name.

And then one night, Ellie* came into my life. No, this is not the Ellie you might be thinking of.

I was a NICU nurse and back then I had a night job in a smaller unit. One of the postpartum nurses came in and asked us if we could help out. Little Ellie’s mom hadn’t slept for almost three days since delivering by c-section. Could we keep Ellie for a few hours and give this exhausted mom a rest?

I was happy to help. It was a quiet night and I was quite good at getting fussy little babies to sleep. I positioned little Ellie across my own swollen belly, wrapped up in her hospital bunny blanket. She was a cute little baby. Dark hair, a sweet little face. I held her, sang her a song, patted her sweet head. She stopped squirming and drifted off to sleep.

Ellie. What a sweet name. And in that moment, I knew. If we had a girl, her name would be Ellie.

It took a bit of persuading to convince my husband of the choice. He didn’t like it at first. But after suggesting it again a few weeks later I guess it grew on him, and the choice was made.

I will never forget the first time I saw her face. I had seen hundreds of newborn faces, in my line of work. But never one just like that. It was unique. Special. And in that moment we learned that we had a girl. Ellie. I was smitten. I remember her little hospital crib, and how the morning sun came in through the window, casting a bright ray across the plexiglass. Her very first morning. I thought of all the firsts that lay before her, and all the things I couldn’t wait to show her, about this beautiful world she had just entered.

About 2 years later, I was expecting our next child, another girl. We were at the park on a sunny crisp fall afternoon. As I pushed Ellie in the swing, I was surprised to hear another woman, calling out to her daughter in the next swing. Her name was Ellie.

I stopped, amazed. Turning toward her, I realized that this child was indeed the baby Ellie that I had sung to sleep that night in the hospital. I introduced myself, and Ellie’s mom and I had a sweet laugh, remembering that night. She of course had no idea that her choice of names had inspired anyone else. Strangers, our lives intersected in a meaningful way.

I saw her once more, in the grocery store a few weeks later. I still think of her, occasionally, wondering how Ellie is doing. Is she married? Did she go to college, have children of her own? I’ll never know.

Two years ago, my beautiful daughter Ellie legally changed her name. She now considers the name that was lovingly given to her, and is part of the most treasured part of my life, abusive. She calls it her “dead name”.

This is like a death to me, and to every other mother who is forbidden to say the name of the child she bore and raised. It’s a trauma, it’s an injustice. There are many who insist that it’s a simple kindness to use the pronouns and names that transgender people have chosen for themselves. How hard can it be, really, they ask. They are welcome to feel that way about it, I guess, if it makes them feel noble somehow. But I’m not going to be able to call my daughter “he”. I just can’t. I carried her. I nurtured her. And as one of the most basic and profound things a person ever does for another person, I named her.

Her name is Ellie.

*I’ve used a pseudonym here