My first name means “born sometime between 1975 and 1985 to Irish American parents with a regrettable fondness for creative spelling.”
Mine means “was the accidental 4th child whose mother couldn’t be bothered to name her”
Mine means “parents with wildly different naming philosophies gave up on compromise and just trainwrecked their respective choices together.” This is their go-to solution for a lot of stuff.
My name means “someone watched a little too much Little House on the Prairie”.
Mine means, “All the female ancestors on both sides of this family have awful, unwieldy monikers like ‘Concetta’ and ‘Henrietta,’ so I think we’d better select a nice Swedish name that we have no cultural ties to, so that no one gets offended.”
Mine means “I was going to be named James, but my mom had a cat named James—so I had no name for 3 days in the hospital. They wound up choosing my father’s middle name.”
My name means “we like non-normative spelling and don’t want our child to have any pre-printed name souvenirs when we go on vacation.”