Because I don't want to see your eyes bulge in horror, squint in confusion, or roll back in disgust. I don't want to hear that deafening silence at the end of the telephone line, while you try to think of an inconspicuous way to change the subject. I don't want you to tell me which of my choices you like the best. Or which one you like the least. I don't want to fight about whether all people named Kelly must heed the call to cheerlead (yes, they must! Go team!). I don't want to know if you think the name I like sounds like the name of a future Pope, preacher, or prize fighter. Or whether it happened to be the name of that fat, gay, weird, brainy, obsessive compulsive, pyromaniacal or retarded kid with cystic acne who went to your high school. In other words, I don't want you raining on my name parade. I once--and only once--made this mistake myself, telling a friend that I thought a certain name sounded too "human resources." Of course, that's what she ended up naming her daughter, who, for the record, does not work in human resources (yet).
If you want to lob out some names for my consideration, knock yourself out. Just do so knowing that I, too, own the Biggest Baby Name Book Ever On Earth Ever--and there's no name you can suggest that I haven't already considered and/or ridiculed. Unless you start feeding me parkway names, like Briley, which I will also discount. If I've driven on it, I'm not likely to name my kid after it. It's just a personal choice; like Gwyneth naming her daugher Apple. Or her son Moses. It's really none of my business. After all I'm not the one who has to keep a straight face while writing MOSES on a sippy cup.