A few years ago, when we were expecting our first child, we decided to learn the baby’s gender at the three-month mark of the pregnancy. I was genuinely thrilled at the prospect of having a son — I had always hoped that my first child would be a boy. However, during the scan, the baby kept its gender a mystery. It almost seemed like the baby didn’t want to give away the secret. Maybe it was because I had openly expressed how much I wanted a son, and everyone in the family had convinced me it would be a boy.

My mother-in-law once remarked that the shape of my belly resembled hers when she was pregnant with my husband. My grandmother told me that my cravings for sour foods were a sure sign I was carrying a boy. Eventually, I embraced the idea and started discussing baby names with my husband. Although I researched many names and their meanings, none of them appealed to either of us.

One day, while walking in the park near our home, I met a young family with a newborn. Their beautiful baby was named Artemiy. “What a unique name!” I remarked to the young mother. “Who chose it?” “He chose it himself,” she replied with a smile. “When I was pregnant, I tried out lots of names, but he never reacted. It wasn’t until I said ‘Artemiy’ that he started moving. That’s how I knew he liked it.” She encouraged me to try the same, explaining that the baby inside has the strongest bond with the mother and would likely respond.

Taking her advice to heart, I went home, sat on the bed, and began softly saying different boy and girl names. The baby stayed still. On a whim, I called out a few more girl names — and that’s when the baby started kicking. Still, after the second ultrasound confirmed we were having a boy, I didn’t think much of it.

When our daughter was born, this memory came rushing back. Despite what the ultrasound had shown and what our relatives had confidently predicted, I welcomed a beautiful little girl into the world — one who, it seems, had already chosen her name.