How did you choose your child’s name? If you do not have children, is there a name of a future child in your heart? This is a story of a time I had to let go of control in order for my baby to have the name of his destiny.

When I was pregnant with my third child, I really wanted to have another daughter, mainly so that Sasha would have a sister. I have a sister, my only sibling, and she is a Wonder Girl. She is the person who loves me unconditionally, understands my sense of humor, and lends a hand automatically. I had these dreams of my daughter chatting up my future daughter, sharing wonderful tales, helping each other, and being best friends.

But at my ultrasound, I found out I was having another boy. I had only one name in my head, Nina, and it was meant for our future daughter. Nino is a fine name but doesn’t have the same ring to it and sounds more Italian than Eastern European. My husband had some funny ideas, such as Pelicano because we both love pelicans and he knew a Greek guy who had that as his last name. We decided to go back to the drawing board. The name that kept bubbling up was “Bubba” (not really, but a beautiful name I shall not mention). The man who had been our de facto marriage counselor was named Bubba, and had it not been for him, we would not have our two sons. My husband and I agreed we would honor Bubba by naming our third child after him.

I told my friends and amazingly, the most common response was “What a beautiful name!” closely followed by “Shut up! I have always wanted to name my child Bubba!” Ah, clearly we had a winner.

And so the day came when I had my son. I had him naturally and pushed for less than an hour (I want to say 20 minutes), and everything seemed great until the doctors thought he had a heart murmur. Suddenly, the pediatrician on call pushed for an echocardiogram and another test, while people around me voiced their objections. I had to find a diplomatic but firm way to resolve this, after just giving birth naturally and being totally exhausted. Meanwhile, nurses took my son to the NICU as I sat on the bed and cried. I had to go down to the NICU floor to nurse him, and he seemed to be doing really well, thank God (much better than me, emotionally speaking). Eventually, I convinced the team to bring the baby upstairs and perform the Echo in the nursery. I told people around me, “Let’s do the Echo so that I can go home with a sense of peace.” Right before the test, a nurse gave him a bath, and he did not appreciate that. He didn’t have peace about it, we can say. In fact, he was freaking out so much that the doctors worried about his intake of oxygen. That’s when I called my girlfriends to postpone their visit and tried not to break down on the phone. Thankfully, my son calmed down and his vitals returned to normal levels. A woman came to perform the Echo and when she finished, she did not look worried, which calmed me. The doctors let the baby spend the night with me in my room. When I woke up the next day, however, a nurse walked in and told me that the Echo was difficult to read and the doctors ordered another one. Oh, what am I going to tell the conscientious objectors? I thought. I felt anxious and frustrated. And then my phone rang.

“Congratulations.” An annoyed voice rang out.

“Thank you.” I replied, cautiously.

“What are you thinking about naming him?” Max asked, with tension in his voice.

“Well, I filled out the paperwork and so far we have Bubba, but we are not sure about the middle name.”

And that’s when he let me have it. “What kind of a name is Bubba? Why are you doing this to me? If you name him Bubba, I will have nothing to do with him.” And that’s when Max hung up the phone.

I remember looking at the clock on the wall for a solid minute.

“Why are you doing this to me?”

The name had nothing to do with him.

I just sat there on my hospital bed, stunned and tired after nursing the baby intermittently all night. I guess Max hadn’t heard about the NICU. Or maybe he did. I guess he meant he would not give him his money. I have never asked Max for money, and I wasn’t planning to. I did what every mature person would do.

I called my mom.

“Mom, privet.”

“Privet, Lenochka.”

“So, let me tell you what just happened,” and I proceeded to tell her the whole story.

“We have to calm him down. He must not be feeling well.”

Oh, mom. Always so understanding.

“Yeah,” I said

Long pause.

“I agree,” I said slowly.

Another pause.

“Maybe he feels like he cannot control his life and Bubba is the last straw. Mama, think of some ideas, and I’m going to call Andy and then Magdalena.”

Andy said, “Well, Bubba could be his street name.” And that’s when I called Magdalena.

What Bubba Sr. is in Houston, Magdalena is in Virginia. She is so wise, so funny, and so ready to help.

“Well,” she said, “Bubba must bring up something from Max’s past that he hasn’t resolved. What about Matthew?”

“Oh, no. Magdalena, remember I had a boyfriend with the same name? I don’t want people to get the wrong idea.” Not to mention that’s the name Max wanted. No way was I going to name my son exactly what Max hoped.

“Matthew is a good name, a Biblical name. It’s around [Orthodox] Christmas, and how wonderful it would be for the baby to be named after one of the Apostles.”

“What about Leo?”

“Okay.” She wasn’t impressed. “I’m just telling you that Matthew would be really good. Trust me.”

A few minutes later a nurse came to talk about the ultrasound situation. After some discussion and an exam, an older doctor announced that based on what he had seen, he felt the baby was fine. “And in addition to what we just mentioned, look at how healthy he looks. He is gaining weight. Look at the total picture. If he is looking good and gaining weight, that must mean his little body is working.”

The little guy is working, Gosh darn it. I looked at him in his little hospital crib. He is a gift, I thought. Just like the name Matthew, “a gift from God.” We don’t deserve him, yet here he is, working so hard to survive and thrive. Thank you, little guy.

And so I talked to my husband and we decided to name the boy Matthew. After all the shenanigans and legitimate concerns I had regarding the possibility of a heart murmur, I became aware just how precious of a gift the baby is. Because of what we had just gone through, I don’t think of my ex-boyfriend or any other Matthew I have ever known. I think, “This baby is a gift to us.” I would have never named him Matthew had I not gone through the ordeal.

And I also think, “Just wait until he is baptized Bubba.” I’m kidding.

Or am I?

Max will just have to wait to find out. In the meantime, Max can have the gift of Matthew’s presence in his life, because God loves Max despite it all. Thank you, God, for this gift in our lives. Thank you for Matthew.

The post script to this story is that after we had decided on Matthew, another person refused to call Matthew by the Russian equivalent. This person literally made up names completely unrelated to Matthew so that this person would feel comfortable. No one thought this was a good idea, probably not even Max. I ignored it and just prayed that this situation would somehow get resolved because I was done dealing with people having a hissy fit and taking out their frustrations on my family. And sure enough, this relative had a dream in which his ancestors told him to call the baby Mitya (I kid you not). Now, Mitya is actually short for Dmitri, or James, which just so happened to be the name my husband wanted as his second choice. And Mitya also sounds like it could be the Russian version of Matthew. I am amazed by how God took care of that situation. It’s like that Jimmi Hendrix song, “Step aside and let Jimmi take over.” Here is my son, I love him so much, and his name is a study in diplomacy and God’s provision.

And yes, he’ll always be Bubba to me!