For nine months, we were asked the same question. At the bakery, on the phone, at family meals. Always the same question, and always with that look of someone who thinks they’ll be the first to get an answer.
So, have you chosen?
We had chosen. A long time ago, in fact. One November evening, in a kitchen, in a whisper, because saying it out loud would have frightened us.
We could have told you. Sent a message with the name, a weight, a length, and a photo with closed eyes. It’s what everyone does, and there’s nothing wrong with that.
But a name isn’t just a piece of information. It’s the first thing we have given this baby, and it will be the last thing anyone says of them. It deserved more than a notification.
So we made this book.
The name is inside. It’s even written out in full, somewhere in these pages, among twenty thousand others. We haven’t hidden anything: we’ve simply refused to point it out.