On Friday we got our baby’s birth certificate — truly one of the most exciting bureaucratic pieces of paperwork a new parent can receive.
Unfortunately, the hospital appears to have either turned off its spell-check or laid off Clippy. See if you can spot the error in our daughter Gloria George Gilbert’s certificate of birth:
If you are wondering whether we named our daughter “Geogre” on purpose, the answer is no, we did not name our daughter “Geogre” on purpose. Her middle name is supposed to be George, as in “George Costanza” or “George Washington” or “by George you spelled the word ‘George’ wrong.”
But look. It’s 2022. I suppose there are a few explanations for why we might have named our daughter “Geogre.”
We are a huge fans of Ogres and/or Shrek.
The baby’s real father is an Ogre and/or Shrek.
We are from Brooklyn, and parents from Brooklyn name their kids much, much weirder things than “Geogre.” There are kids running barefoot in Prospect Park with names like Sassafras and Bucatini and Dewdrop. Why not Geogre?
We are French or something, and the baby’s middle name is pronounced “ZHA-gruh.” [takes a drag on cigarette]: “Oui, oui, zis is Geogre. Her hobbies include zee tummy time and zee suffering.”
We were trying to name her “Geographer” but we gave up halfway.
The name “Geogre” is a sly commentary on America’s patriarchal structures, the “Georges” that molded society in their image, and “Geogre” is our puckish attempt at subverting those structures
We are celebrities and we do not care what our child’s name is. “Yeah her name is Machinehead Geogre Gilbert or whatever. Do NOT take photos of him.”
Alas, none of these are the case. We were going for George.
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When I saw that our child’s birth certificate was messed up, I was surprised. This is a sacrosanct document! It can’t have errors on it: It’s like a Social Security card or a text to your ex about how well you’re doing. The spelling must be precise.
So I figured this was once-in-a-blue-moon event: How many times does a baby’s birth certificate contain a glaring error?
Well, I posted this photo on my Instagram, and soon my inbox was filled with stories of incorrect birth certificates, most of them from the past year. One friend’s baby’s birth certificate listed the wrong sex. Another listed the mother’s name so wrong that it was not recognizably hers.
Another friend had recently given birth to twins, born within minutes of each other; the birth certificates listed them as having been born three days apart. Whoever is writing birth certificates in NYC is doing so with the care I expect from a drunk guy ordering Papa John’s at 3AM.
But hey, people make mistakes on the job. You order the wrong part; you bring the wrong tool; you accidentally take nuclear secrets from the White House. It happens.
One takeaway, I guess, is that making birth certificates is a much more creatively-fulfilling job than I thought. You’re not just sitting in some dusty office doing rote data entry. The baby’s name is JESSICA? You type in JESSICA. The baby is a girl? You hit “F” for Female.
No, you are free to let your imagination run wild. The baby’s name is JESSICA? Wrong. It’s GROGAN now. The baby was born in New York City? Oops, my finger slipped and she is now from Romania. Your baby was born 3 weeks ago? Nice try. GROGAN won’t officially be born for another 16 years.
Luckily, it’s easy to request a correction to a birth certificate, according to the NYC website. You just have to visit the hospital’s clerical office, and what new parent doesn’t have the time and energy to spend a few hours traveling to and from Midtown while their baby is a few weeks old?
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While the city of New York did not give me a birth certificate with my child’s correct information, what it did give me was something more important: a memory.
For several weeks, my baby will have been Geogre, a French flower-child whose real dad may or may not be Shrek.
Love ya, Geogre, or whatever your name may be.