“Well, you have one day left to decide! You have to submit your forms to the province tomorrow. She won’t be able to access health care, and you won’t be able to get the child tax benefit. It will just make life more difficult.”

I knew she was trying to be helpful, but the nurse’s comments were not comforting. I felt like a terrible mother. I couldn’t even get myself organized enough to submit my baby’s paperwork on time. With my clients, I had always provided documents and disclosure ahead of schedule. With my own daughter, I was scrambling and running out of time.

My preoccupation was not just to find something that would roll off the tongue easily. People make so many assumptions when they read or hear a name. They guess where the person has come from, where they’ve been. They imprint in their minds a version of that person that may not be based on anything true or accurate. Crafting my daughter’s first impression to the world made me feel like the forms I had were pinned to the table with a paperweight. I couldn’t drag myself from under the burden and was overcome with the power I held to unleash over her future.

I had waited long enough. It was time to tackle this problem head-on.

After the nurse left, I held my daughter and looked at her. She had spit up all over herself and I had to change her. I noticed the gift bag Auntie Choo Neo had left. Inside was a cheerful yellow-and-orange onesie. I was grateful I didn’t have to climb the stairs to find a new outfit for her.

I placed the baby on a quilt that Auntie Elizabeth had made. Hilary had brought it over when I was in the hospital. I hadn’t had a chance to thank them yet. The new onesie had mitts in the shape of lion paws. I chuckled at how babies needed to protect their faces from their own tiny sharp fingernails. There was also a hood, which I placed gently over her head so that the ears and mane of a lion flowed around her face. I tucked her into a carrier strapped to my body, the mane tickling my neck. As my daughter fell asleep, I called her “my little lion.”

Curious, I pulled out my phone and searched for names that meant “lioness.” Hundreds of results appeared. I called John. “How do you say ‘lioness’ in Ukrainian?” I asked.

“What are you talking about?” he said.

“The baby’s name,” I explained. “She’s wearing this really cute onesie that makes her look like a little lion.”

“Give me a sec.” I heard typing, and then, “Leonida.”

“Okay, how about we put Leonida on her birth certificate, but we call her Leo for short?”

“I like it!”

“Great! Leo.”

Pleased, I pulled a baby book out of Auntie Choo Neo’s gift bag. Opening it, I marvelled at the soft yellow petals jutting forward from the thick pages, delicately framing the face of a lion meant for a young hand to touch.