The messy, exhausting chaos of picking the right baby boy name

It was a blistering Tuesday in late August, the kind of heat that makes your car steering wheel feel like a frying pan, and I was sitting in the Target parking lot in my rusted Subaru. I was wearing leggings that were definitely just maternity tights that had completely lost their will to live, sweating through my t-shirt, and holding a plastic cup of iced coffee that was basically just brown water at that point. My phone buzzed. It was the portal message from my doctor's office with our NIPT test results. I tapped the PDF with my thumb, holding my breath, and there it was, glaring at me in sterile black Arial font. Male.

I think I actually dropped my iced coffee right onto the floor mat. I stared at the dashboard. My husband, Dave, who was in the passenger seat trying to fix a broken vent clip, looked over and asked what was wrong. "It's a boy," I whispered, my voice thick with a sudden, crushing panic. "Oh god, Dave, we've to name a male human."

Because here's the absolute truth about picking a name for a baby boy: it feels utterly impossible. Girl names are like poetry. They flow, they've options, you can add an 'a' or an 'ie' to the end of almost anything and it sounds lovely and soft. Boy names? Boy names always sound to me like you're either picking a 19th-century blacksmith who works with an anvil, or a guy in a Patagonia vest who's about to ask me for a venture capital loan. There's absolutely no in-between.

The spreadsheet era and the quest for something different

For the next three months, our dining room table was covered in printouts, lined notebook paper, and my laptop permanently open to Excel. We were deep in the spreadsheet era. I was constantly up at 3 AM, my pregnant belly propped up on four different pillows, aggressively googling things like baby boy names unique, desperately hoping the internet would just spit out the perfect, magical answer that would make us both happy.

Dave's suggestions were, quite frankly, a cry for help. I don't know what happens to men when they find out they're having a son, but suddenly my husband—a mild-mannered accountant who collects vintage maps—wanted to name our child "Maverick." Or "Blade." I looked at him over my lukewarm bowl of mac and cheese one night and said, "We live in a suburb where our biggest thrill is watching the recycling truck. Our child is not a fighter pilot." Then he swung entirely the other way and suggested "Buddy." Like the golden retriever? No. Just, no.

We wanted something cool but grounded, something that looks respectable on a college application but also fits a sticky toddler covered in yogurt. I was reading all these trend predictions, like those articles about baby boy names 2025, and my brain was just melting out of my ears. Apparently, the big trend right now is "escapism." Nature names. Forest, River, Caspian, Bear. Which is beautiful in theory, but I felt like if I named my kid Bear, he'd be obligated to learn how to whittle by age four, and I don't even like going camping.

Then there's the whole obsession with the letter X. Axel, Felix, Jaxon, Maddox. I swear, you go to a playground right now and yell a name with an X in it, and half the sandbox turns around. It felt like so much pressure. You want your kid to stand out, but you don't want them to have to spell their name phonetically for the barista at Starbucks for the rest of their natural life. Anyway, the point is, naming a human being is terrifying because you're branding them forever.

I used to worry about whether his name would flow perfectly with a future sibling's name, but honestly, nobody gives a crap about your cohesive sib-set.

The catastrophic mistake of sharing the list early

Somewhere in my second trimester, my brain turned to mush and I broke the cardinal rule of baby naming. Don't ever, under any circumstances, tell your extended family your top choices before the baby is actually out of your body.

We thought we had a solid list of cute baby boy names. We were at a Sunday dinner at my mother-in-law's house. I was so exhausted I was practically asleep in my mashed potatoes, and Dave casually mentioned that we were leaning toward the name Silas. My mother-in-law stopped chewing. She slowly put her fork down, looked at me with an expression of sheer pity, and said, "Silas? Like a farmhand from the depression?"

I wanted to crawl under the rug and never come out. That’s the thing—names are entirely subjective, and the second you float an idea to your family, they'll immediately associate it with their worst childhood bully, an ex-boyfriend they hated, or a dog they once knew. Sharing the name early is like voluntarily walking into traffic, just keep it to yourself until the kid is literally in your arms and they can't say anything because there's a cute baby attached to the name.

The personalization trap (and the blanket we actually needed)

Because I was so stressed about the name, I started stress-shopping. I kept seeing all these gorgeous, highly personalized nursery items on Instagram. Huge wooden name signs, custom-embroidered swaddles. I almost dropped like a hundred dollars on a custom knitted sweater with "Arthur" across the back because Dave convinced me Arthur was a strong contender for exactly two days.

Thank god I didn't. Instead of buying things with his potential name on it, I just started buying really good, functional, adorable stuff that didn't lock us in. One of the best things I grabbed during those late-night scrolling sessions was the Colorful Dinosaur Bamboo Baby Blanket from Kianao. I'm absolutely obsessed with this thing. It's a 70% organic bamboo and 30% organic cotton blend, and it's so ridiculously soft I kind of wanted to wear it as a scarf.

I had this whole vision of wrapping my little nameless boy in it. Plus, the dinosaurs are bright and fun without looking like cheap cartoon characters. Let me tell you, when Leo really arrived (spoiler alert, we named him Leo), he lived on this blanket. He did tummy time on it, he threw up on it approximately four thousand times, and it washed beautifully every single time. It genuinely got softer? I don't understand fabric science, but it's magic. Seriously, skip the heavy personalized stuff until you sign the birth certificate and just get a really good bamboo blanket.

(If you're also procrastinating on your naming spreadsheets right now and just want to look at tiny cute things, you should probably just browse through some good organic baby clothes to calm your nerves).

Doing the playground math

Around week 34, I had a total breakdown in my doctor's office. Dr. Miller is this wonderfully blunt woman who has seen it all, and I was crying because we still didn't have a name. She handed me a tissue and mumbled something about how a crazy number of parents—like 20 percent or something—end up having name regret because they didn't do the basic math on the name before the birth.

She told me to write down the full initials. I hadn't even thought about that! We were heavily considering the name Thomas Richard... until I realized his initials with Dave's last name (Davis) would literally be TRD. Turd. We almost named our baby Turd. Oh god.

Then there's the playground test. I read this deep dive somewhere—or maybe it was just a really aggressive mom group post, my memory is shot—that said toddlers' mouths literally haven't developed the muscle tone to pronounce harsh consonants yet. So if you name your kid something like Axel or Tucker, when they try to say their own name at two years old, they're absolutely going to sound like they're screaming a profanity in the middle of the library storytime.

Dressing for the name you haven't picked yet

As my due date got closer, I started nesting hard. I realized that the clothes I was buying were kind of influencing the names I liked. I bought these incredible Retro Organic Cotton Shorts from Kianao in this rich mocha color. They have this vintage, athletic white trim on the edges, and the second I held them up, I pictured my kid looking like a tiny 1970s camp counselor.

I loved them so much. The GOTS-certified organic cotton with that little bit of stretch is just brilliant because baby legs are so incredibly chunky and they need room to bicycle kick the air at 3 AM. Looking at those cool, laid-back retro shorts made me realize I didn't want a stuffy, aristocratic name. I didn't want a "William" or an "Edward." I wanted a kid who looked like he belonged in vintage ribbed cotton, running barefoot through the grass. A kid named Leo, maybe. Or Milo. Something short, snappy, and fun.

I also threw a Panda Teether in my cart during that same hormone-fueled shopping spree. Honestly, it's totally fine. It's made of food-grade silicone and it's safe, which is great, but Leo mostly just ended up throwing it at our cat instead of chewing on it when his teeth finally came in. The cat hated it. But the shorts? The shorts were a massive win.

The hospital room moment

My water broke at 2 AM on a Thursday. By the time we got to the hospital, the name spreadsheets were completely forgotten. I had packed my hospital bag weeks ago, stuffing in my favorite Sleeveless Organic Cotton Baby Bodysuit—which, by the way, was a lifesaver because the hospital room was kept at approximately the temperature of the surface of the sun and the nurses kept piling blankets on us. Having a soft, breathable, undyed organic cotton layer against his brand-new, sensitive newborn skin was the only thing that kept him from getting a massive heat rash.

After 14 hours of labor, when the epidural was wearing off and my hair was glued to my forehead with sweat, they finally put this squalling, red-faced, incredibly slippery little potato on my chest. Dave was crying. I was shaking. The nurse looked at us with her clipboard and asked, "Do we've a name for him?"

Dave looked at me. We hadn't discussed it in three weeks. We had just given up. But I looked down at this tiny boy, wrapped up tight, squinting at the harsh hospital lights.

"Leo," I said. It just fell out of my mouth. It wasn't on the top of any of the trendy lists we checked. It wasn't a family name. It just belonged to him.

Dave smiled, wiped his nose on the sleeve of his hoodie, and nodded. "Leo. Yeah. That's him."

Choosing a baby boy name feels like the most monumental, high-stakes decision you'll ever make in your entire life. You agonize over it, you fight with your partner over it, you stare at the ceiling at midnight worrying that a kid named Jasper won't be able to get a job in banking. But the truth is, the second they arrive, the name just becomes them. All the trend lists and the playground tests and the initials just fade away, and suddenly, you can't imagine them being called anything else.

Ready to start prepping for your little guy's arrival (even if you still have no idea what to call him)? Check out Kianao's full collection of sustainable, incredibly soft baby essentials to get your hospital bag perfectly packed.

My messy, totally honest FAQs about baby naming

Should we use a family name as a middle name?

Honestly, I used to think this was mandatory, but it's really not. My doctor Dr. Miller told me a lot of parents use the middle name as a "safety net." If you pick a really wild first name because you love it, give them a traditional middle name so they've options when they're older. We gave Leo Dave's middle name just to end an argument about it, and I haven't thought about his middle name since the day we signed the birth certificate.

When should we finalize the name?

Take your time! Literally wait until you're sitting in the hospital bed and the birth registrar is hovering by the door with a pen. So many of my friends were dead-set on a name for nine months, and then the baby popped out and they realized he just didn't look like a "Sebastian." Keep a short list, but don't lock it in until you see their little squishy face.

Is it bad if my baby's name is in the top 10 most popular list?

I stressed about this so much, but statistically, a top 10 name today is nowhere near as common as a top 10 name in the 1980s. There's so much variety now! If you love Liam or Noah, just use it. Yeah, there might be another one in his kindergarten class, but he'll survive. It's popular because it's a good name.

How do I deal with family members who hate our name choice?

First of all, don't tell them until the baby is born. Seriously, I can't stress this enough. But if you already slipped up and your mom is making passive-aggressive comments, just smile, take a sip of your coffee, and say, "Well, it's a good thing you already got to name your kids!" They'll get over it the second they see the baby in person. They always do.

Should I worry about monogramming right away?

I wouldn't. Hold off on buying anything permanently embroidered or engraved until they're officially born and named. Babies come early, names change at the last second, and you don't want to be stuck with a $60 personalized wooden block set for a kid named "Oliver" when you ended up naming him "Finn" in a panic. Stick to beautiful, high-quality essentials first.