With Very Little Ceremony

I've been thinking a lot lately about how we picked Sawyer's name. I only recently got comfortable with it. I mean, I've always liked the name, but I'd been wondering if it was going to fit him. What if, when he's 5, he really is an Adam or Gage (yeah, that was Stephan's)? I mean, you have 24-48 hours to pick a name that's going to stick forever... that's a lot of pressure and I'd been wondering if we choose wisely.

Then there are all the naming ceremonies that are celebrated around the world. I think every culture has one. My friend who is Greek told me about a naming ceremony they had for their son more than a year after he was born. And then, as if that isn't enough, there's a whole 'nother naming ceremony when the kid gets older (I'm thinking the whole rite of passage/confirmation/adolescent thing).

We don't remember our parents' picking our names. We just grew up with them and learned to deal. If we're lucky we attach meaning to our adult naming... but most of us don't.

So with all of this in mind, I started to cry on Christmas when Sawyer looked right at me and- for the first time in his life- said "Mama." It was like our own little naming ceremony for me. It wasn't just a random attachment of syllables like it was when he said Dadadadadada.... this was him looking at me, pointing to me, and giving me my new name. We might have more kids, but this one is the one who named me.

I'm blogging this so everyone can point to it in a few years when I wish he'd never learned how to say Mama. I'm not sure that day will come, but until it does, I'm going to savor this one.