I've appreciated your advice for parents over the years, and have stowed chunks of it away for when my son is old enough to need it. I would appreciate your view on this little problem I've had for, well, all my son's life. We gave him a stupid name. It's too unusual. It's from Shakespeare, and it's Italian (my ancestry). It's the one time I feel that my husband let me down, I let myself down by not making a fuss for once when it really mattered, and I failed my son.

My husband is not that unconventional, but his baby name suggestions were Morpheus and Lucifer. I don't remember a single sensible suggestion he made. He torpedoed all my nominations, which were wicked cool, manly names. After a month (literally) he said I could name the kid my first choice, but he hated the name. I let go this opportunity, agreed to the one other name we both thought was okay, and I have regretted it ever since. Our son is now eight, and I can't let this go.

I feel like such an asshole. My son is fucking brilliant. He lets me call him by his "secret" name, the name I always wanted to call him. If I suggest adding it as a middle name in case he wants to take on a more mainstream name one day, like several of our friends from Asia have done, he says, "You can call me that, but it's not my name."

I have to live with the mistake, I know it. How do I stop myself cringing whenever I have to introduce my son? There are many times when the guilt is overwhelming, even though he has never received any negative comment about his name; he likes it. I'm the one risking giving him a complex.

Obviously His Name Obsesses

I'm tempted to ask what your other "wicked cool, manly names" were for your son. Vesuvius? Maximus? Antinous? Actually, no. Don't tell me, OHNO, because it doesn't matter. You have to call your son the name he wants to be called, which just so happens to be the name you gave him. You also have got to stop flipping out over this big nothing burger of a non-problem.

You didn't share the name of you gave your son, OHNO, but there are worse names for a boy than Alonso, Bassanio, Benvolio, Cassio, Dromio, Gratiano, Gonzalo, Orlando, Prospero, or Romeo. Even a little baby Caliban could be cute. If you can't bear to call your son by the name he would like to be called by—which, again, just so happens to be the name you and your husband gave him—go ahead and call him honey, buddy, sweetheart, or some other affectionate/maternal pet name. And please try to put keep your non-problem in perspective: parenting is tough work and if this is the worst crisis you face over the next decade and a half, OHNO, you got off lucky. And when you find yourself getting tense about this bullshit or some other bullshit, just remind yourself that it's your job to love, support, and guide your son, even if some of his choices—name-related or otherwise—wind up being annoying variations on your own lousy choice(s) or his own uniquely annoying choices.

And take comfort, OHNO: Your literary pretensions and references could be worse. Friends of a friend named their son Grisha, after the boy in Chekhov's The Cherry Orchard who drowned at age seven. While that name sounds REALLY FUCKING JINXY TO ME, non-fictional Grisha is ten years old now... so, hey, they're out of the jinxy/danger/OMFG zone. BUT STILL.

Finally, NM, you say you can't let it go. That's equal parts bullshit and self-fulfilling prophecy. You can let it go. Like someone or other once said: "Things without all remedy should be without regard: what's done, is done."

Your son has a name. That's done and cannot be undone. Get over it, ma.