My Baby Has Changed My Life — If Only I Could Change His Name
We thought we had found the perfect name for our baby, but early returns suggest otherwise
4:05 am — Our little prince has arrived!
After waiting nine long months of pregnancy (plus a few days because someone was a little too comfortable in mommy’s tummy!), eleven hours of labor, and over three hours of pushing, our little prince has finally arrived — screaming like a banshee and absolutely beautiful. What an incredible moment. My wife and I had managed to keep our name choice a secret for weeks, but now we are finally thrilled to introduce to the world our precious baby boy … Guilherme Priest!
4:27 am — Messaging the friends and fam!
It’s very early in the morning, so even though our families have certainly gone to sleep by now, we simply cannot wait any longer to let them know about little Guilherme’s arrival. We have the nurse snap a few cute family pics of the wife and me with our bundle of joy, and send them off to our parents and closest friends. I’m sure they’ll be ecstatic to wake up to this exciting news. In the meantime, time to fill out and turn in the birth certificate application!
7:06 am — Early reactions are in!
Our parents respond first, and can’t contain their excitement. “He’s perfect!” writes back one new grandparent. “What an angel!” messages another. A short while later, a few friends reply to our group chat. It starts with a couple congratulations, but then as guys do, the chat swiftly devolves into some gentle ribbing — “Guilherme … like Donald Trump Jr.’s girlfriend?” Haha, my friends are always joshing around, I love it! You explain that his name’s not “Guilfoyle” but that if it was it would be after Martin Starr’s character on Silicon Valley. Then you clarify that it’s actually pronounced “Gee-lee-air-me.” — “Gee-lee? Oh, like that shitty J.Lo movie!” replies your friend Monty. What a jokester!
9:13 am — Distant relatives start messaging
“Congrats on Guillermo!” texts my uncle. After correcting him that it’s actually “Guilherme, pronounced ‘Gee-lee-air-me’” I pause to think how this mistake could have happened. At this point, I’ve only texted people about Guilherme being born, and my uncle would have certainly heard the birth announcement from my mom, who is more likely to call other family members with the news so she can bask in their audible “awws” and “ohhs.” Is she telling people our son’s name is Guillermo? “Can’t wait to meet baby Keyairmo!” texted a second-cousin. Oof. Now they’re misspelling the wrong name.
9:19 am — FaceTime clarification
I FaceTime my parents. After several minutes of gushing at their grandson over the video call, I get to the point of the call, which is to set the record straight on Guilherme’s name. I start by apologizing for thrusting a challenging name for Americans on them with little context. Then, I expound that Guilherme is quite common in Portuguese-speaking countries, so it will be easy for my Brazilian wife’s family to pronounce, followed by a slow pronunciation demonstration of “Gee-lee-air-me.” My mom says back “Gee-yair-me” which I generously acknowledge as better but still incorrect. I get through “Gee-lee” in my second demonstration when my dad gets bored and cuts me off to announce he’s just going to call him “Gary.” My mom elbows him, then says back “Gee-larry-me.”
2:35 pm — We may have a problem
After spending the rest of the morning and early afternoon correcting dozens of family members on Guilherme’s pronunciation, I start accompanying every ensuing birth announcement text sent out with the proper phonetic pronunciation. Even so, I’m starting to sense a major problem on our hands. Whether texting or talking, people are avoiding using Guilherme’s name altogether, and are just making vague references to him like “baby” and “your son.” That was fine before he was born because people didn’t know what his name would be, but now that he’s here, calling him “Baby Priest” sounds like he’s an animated Alec Baldwin-voiced sequel.
2:48 pm — Damage control
After several deep breaths, it’s time to bring in the contingency plan. You always knew Guilherme could be a challenging name for Americans, and that’s exactly why you came prepared with a nickname. You start doubling back on previous texts with a new cute pic of your little man swaddled and sleeping so that in the caption you can casually refer to him as “Gui.” Your friend Monty texts back “Gui-do” but he’s just clowning.
2:48 pm — Damage control, Pt. II
To be sure, you start clarifying that “Gui” is pronounced like the French “Guy” … which you then have to clarify is pronounced like the Indian clarified butter and not like an informal synonym for a male. That seems to stick (like butter — get it?!) pretty well. Phew! Crisis averted. Gui it is.
4:01 pm — Affirmation of Gui
You awake from a much-needed power nap by the ding of a text notification. It’s Monty again. He writes, “You sure about Gui?” I explain that we were always going to call him Gui, but you wanted to make sure everyone knew his government name, Guilherme, too. Monty writes back, “Gui Priest? His name’s gonna be a Gui Priest?” That’s what you’re going to call him, yes, you confirm. “Ok.” says Monty.
4:03 pm — Gui Priest.
Shit. Your in-laws are Catholic and you named your son “Gui Priest.”
