Thanks to my grandfather, when I was born, everyone thought my name was Olivia.
Usually people have it all figured out. They know their child's name without even seeing them yet. But my parents decided after they saw me. After seeing me they had it all figured out. Well, almost…
My Dad was in the elevator with my nurse, and Dad was holding me. Both of them were looking at me and talking about how great I was, (I would assume) then my dad brought up how my him and my Mom were either naming me Sophia or Olivia.
Sophia or Olivia.
If I had to choose the name Sophia or Olivia right now, I would choose Sophia. Sometimes I hate my name and the way it sounds, but sometimes it is the prettiest thing I’ve ever heard. I would choose Sophia over Olivia any day. Sophia just seems to suit me better.
After my Dad told the nurse of the two choice dilemma, she gave her opinion saying that I was surely a Sophia. That I looked like one.
I don’t really know how you can tell if a baby really looks like something because to me, all babies look alike. But this nurse must see many babies all the time. I would hope she put some thought into her decision, because who knows if what she said is what helped my Dad decide.
My Dad agreed with the nurse in the elevator and then went to tell my Mom he had chosen Sophia over Olivia. That is how my name was decided on. Just like that.
When my Dad started to get calls from relatives saying “congrats on Olivia being born,” he got confused. Neither of the names had been final. Yes, Olivia had been the first on the list but he hadn’t told anybody what they were naming the baby yet. He tracked down the false information to his Dad (my Grampy), later telling him that my name was actually Sophia.
My Grampy accidently got the name Olivia stuck in his head as my name. Then when I was born he got so excited (especially since I was his first grandchild) and told everyone that his granddaughter Olivia had been born. Silly Grampy got it all wrong, but since then I have never been called Olivia!
The story of how my name was given to me is a story about Dad, a nurse and an elevator. Thank goodness my parents didn’t name me Olivia, otherwise I would be one of the 700 in my grade. Good job Mom. Good job Dad. And a big thank you to the nurse in the elevator.