Seven cheers for the Beckhams!
OK, so she’s finally got her girl. And surprise surprise, the little girl has an unusual name. Well you would hardly have expected anything mainstream, would you, afterBrooklyn, Romeo and Cruz?
The social networks have been buzzing all morning with comments about young Harper’s name – and particularly the choice of her middle name, which is… if you happen to have been under a rock all morning… (possibly placed there by your truculent toddler – or did you put yourself there as a result of your truculent toddler? Well, that’s another story…) Seven.
Harper Seven Beckham.
‘Oh, I quite like it’ says one comment on my Facebook friend stream. ‘not sure about Seven,’ says another.
To which I say, WHY DOES IT BLOODY MATTER? OK, so Posh and David are celebrities and there’s always the argument that they have courted that, so deserve to have every fart, every nosepick, every sneeze brought into the limelight. And to me there’s something going on here about how mums (women, maybe) can be wonderfully supportive and display heartening sisterhood – or they can be catty and judgemental.
It’s up to them what they call their child. I wonder whether anyone said to my parents’ faces ‘Oh, not sure about Kedi’ – I doubt it. Could well have been raised eyebrows behind their backs (or perhaps not – this was the early seventies, after all). Just as it’s up to them how they give birth, and how they feed their child. Just as it’s up to every single one of us how we do things.
I had a lightbulb moment once when training to be an antenatal teacher, when soemone said to me , ‘everyone wants the best for their child’. The problem is that individuals sometimes disagree what’s for the best. Some parents feel that a mainstream name is great – others feel that something unique is better. Some parents decide to live in the city centre, others in the depths of the country. Some parents chose to give birth by caesarean, others go an all natural route. But I firmly believe that every single parent genuinely wants to do best by their little one.
Whether they always succeed is another question. Actually I know the answer to that – of course they don’t. All any of us can hope for is to be a good-enough parent, rather than a perfect one. Some kids change their names – and not even from the bizarre to the normal, or vice versa. I have a friend – Steph – whose name is really Karen! But we name our kids according to what’s important to us, so I say good on them, and even though I keep typing Sven, which sounds distinctly boyish to me welcome Harper Seven Beckham.