You know how you think you've invented a name (not necessarily for your impending name-change and not necessarily for your would-be child) that sounds equal parts exotic and dumb. You nurture that strange creature in your head, only to be relegated to the dark folds of your memory as you plod through the days dreaming and despairing.

Then one day you see the name attached to a surname. There is a person out there named with this invented name you've conjured for yourself.

I was excited and deflated.

And so, Ysabeau, lovely and impossible name, I cast you off the cave of my internal world where you should grant your blinding and quiet possibility to a slumbering child.