Global Reflections

Not too long ago, Jeff spent two weeks back in the Washington, DC, area for work. His hotel was in the same area where we lived before we moved to Egypt--in fact, it was the same hotel in which we stayed for a few days after the movers took our stuff and before our scheduled departure. Jeff, therefore, was able to spend evenings and 3 weekend days (he arrived on a Saturday and left two Fridays later) with friends; he even attended our home church for the first time in almost two years. And even better (from my perspective, though not from his), he was able to spend a full weekend visiting Babies'R'Us, Target, and other brick-and-mortar stores to actually lay eyes--and hands!--on some of the things we've been looking at online and considering for Alexa. Thanks to his trip, we were able to decide on the glider we want for the nursery, and he was able to give me guidelines within which I can pick out any crib, changing table, and dresser I want once I go back this summer. He also made a decision about the baby carrier that we'll purchase for his use (I had already chosen mine--turns out he'll get the same kind, or we may even share) and the new digital camera we'll use to record those cute little moments of Alexa's life. It was a good, productive time, in addition to fun for him--watching March Madness live, eating at his favorite restaurants, seeing friends, and in particular, spending lots of time with his "bestest buddy" from college (who again earned his "bestest buddy" status by accompanying Jeff on the baby shopping expedition).

But Jeff did not content himself with doing the bare minimum that I had requested for Alexa. He dragged his buddy not only to the furniture department, but to the clothing department. Unbeknownst to me, he was on a mission to show me in a tangible way that he's excited about our coming daughter and that he wants to be involved in her life and in the decisions that we have yet to make before her arrival. This is what he came back with:


I'm not sure if you can read it or not, but the onesie says "Daddy loves me." I think that says it all, doesn't it?

Jeff wasn't the only one thinking of our little Alexa while he was home. Another good friend--friends, actually, a husband and wife couple--sent a gift back with Jeff. When we opened it after his return home, we found these adorable little items:


Again, I'm not sure how well the details will show up in the picture. The onesie in the middle (which does have sleeves; they're just folded back so you can see the other onesies too) has a teddy bear and a duck on it, and the one on the right has a giraffe. The left one has a pattern of teddy bears, giraffes, ducks, and sheep. And of course, the sleeper has frogs :)

I've also purchased just a couple of things for Alexa here in Egypt. At a charity bazaar, I bought a hooded towel and a board book that I remember fondly from my own childhood:


And then there are all the wonderful gifts that we received at a surprise baby shower a couple of nights ago--but I think I'll hold off on sharing those. I may write a post about the shower itself, so if I do, I'll share pictures then.

I think it may be a good thing that I'm not in the States right now. Baby items are just such cute little things--in the States, it's entirely too easy to go to the mall or to Target or to [insert your favorite store] and spend entirely too much money on them. Here, I'm sure that there are stores that have the same cute little things, but I've had no reason to find them before now, and I'm doing remarkably well at resisting the impulse. It's allowing us to save the money we'll need for the larger baby purchases I'll make this summer ... and maybe have enough left over to buy some more cute little things too :)

It is true that the name of a thing doesn't change the essence of the thing. A rose really would smell just the same whether it were called a rose, a cloud, a lamp, or a grave. The essence of the rose would not differ just because of its name. In fact, the reason why most of us probably consider the word rose to be pleasant is because of the thing that it names--rather than the name affecting our perception of the thing, the thing affects our perception of the name. We probably would not have such a positive attitude toward the word rose if it described, not a fragrant flower, but a putrid body odor.

The same thing holds true with human names. There are names that I never particularly liked, until I met some wonderful person who happened to have that name, and now I have a more favorable opinion of the name itself. There are names that I used to love, until I met some arrogant or cruel person who happened to have that name, and now I dislike the name itself. But to some degree, the opposite also holds true with human names. The names that we give sometimes seem to affect the character or personality of the child who is named. Of course, it may just be that certain types of parents give certain types of names and also engage in certain parenting behaviors that tend to result in certain types of children--a mother who names her child "Elizabeth" or "Matthew" will probably raise that child in a much more traditional way than a mother who names her child "Apple" or "Thor." Human names also can affect the way people view the person who carries the name--we tend to have a stereotype of "Martha" that is very different from our stereotype of "Delilah."

Given names are not the most important attribute of a person, but they are important, for the reasons stated above. Naming a child is one of the great privileges--and great responsibilities--of parenthood. It can be a difficult decision, but it's also one of the more fun tasks, provided that Mom and Dad both go into it with a positive and flexible attitude.

Yes, Jeff and I have been discussing names for our preborn daughter.

Yes, we have come to a decision. (No, we have not yet chosen a backup boy's name, just in case the doctor's "pretty certain" turns out not to be certain enough. We will choose one, but we haven't done it yet.)

Yes, we're announcing that name today.

No, not quite yet--you'll have to keep reading if you want to know :)

The first bit of the name that we decided on actually was the middle name. Jeff mentioned long ago--before we even married--that he would love to name his firstborn daughter after his paternal grandmother. He used to go visit his grandparents on their farm for the summer when he was a child, and he has wonderful memories of the time he spent there. Later, his grandmother moved into an assisted living facility near his father's home, and Jeff visited her as much as he was able. She died a year or so before we married, and it was a very difficult time for Jeff. So when he said that he would like to name his daughter after her, it didn't occur to me to refuse. However, I did negotiate with him--I asked if he would accept his grandmother's name as his daughter's middle name rather than as her first name. I freely admit that my preference was due to a superficial--but important to me--factor. His grandmother's name starts with the letter R. When I was a child, I had to attend speech therapy because my Rs sounded like Ws. I speak more clearly now, but there have been moments throughout my life when the R sound just wouldn't come out correctly, and I was teased unmercifully by a few schoolmates. I often feel slightly self-conscious when saying words beginning with R, so you can imagine my chagrin at the thought of going through the rest of my life with an R-named daughter! Luckily, Jeff was fine with the request, even before I explained why I made it.

Because we already had the middle name picked out, all that was left to us recently was to choose the first name. It was important to me that the name we chose be pretty and meaningful. I also would like for it not to be too common, but all of my favorites were more common than I prefer, so I focused instead on the meaning and on how it sounds with the middle name we chose and with our last name. I love the idea that names' meanings could influence the child's character, and I greatly appreciate the meaning of the middle name we chose: it means friend.

I considered several meaningful first names that sounded nice with the middle and last names our daughter will have. Jeff considered a few. I got stuck on one of the first ones that I considered--a name of Greek origin that means defender. I love the idea of my daughter being a defender. A defender of truth, of justice, of any younger siblings we may eventually give her. And I like how it combines with her middle name: defender-friend. A defender of her friends, a friend of those who defend. Someone strong and principled enough to be a defender, and caring and personable enough to be a friend. In my mind, it was perfect.

Eventually, Jeff agreed with me. So we have a name. Would you like to hear it?

Alexa Ruth.

Our daughter, the defender-friend. I can't wait to meet her.

I hate dreams.

Oh, not the inspirational "I have a dream" goal-and-aspiration kind of dreams--I'm a big fan of those. No, the ones I despise are the ones that come when you sleep, when you're most vulnerable and defenseless. I've hated those as long as I can remember.

I have good reason, too: They've never been kind to me. As a child, I would wake with night terrors--those middle of the night awakenings that are filled with unexplainable fear, the remnant of nightmares that you don't remember even as you wake up. Sometimes I would remember the gist of the nightmare (it had "something" to do with vampires, or with demons, or with evil people trying to hurt my little brother--who actually was littler than me at the time--and only I was there to protect him; but I had no specifics, just the general awareness of who the bad guys had been). On very rare occasions I would remember more details, at least for a few minutes, until I was fully awake. Most often I didn't remember anything at all about the dream. Once my father told me that it would help if I talked about my nightmares, but I was ashamed to admit that I was still so terrified and didn't even remember what I was afraid of, so I made up a nightmare to tell him. I developed my own little mantra-like prayer that I would repeat over and over every night until I fell asleep--and every time I awoke in the night. "Jesus, help me. Let me fall asleep quickly and sleep all night. Don't let me have any bad dreams. Don't let me be afraid. Please help me, Jesus." I said it well into my 20s.

The blessing for me is that I don't remember my dreams. As I've gotten older, there have been times when one of my friends would tell me about the wonderful dream she had. I assume that there is no way all of my dreams could be bad, and from time to time I became determined to remember a good one. So I'd be sure not to set an alarm clock, and as I slowly woke up, I would focus on remembering. Without exception, every time, the dream I remembered would be scary or sad. Eventually I just thanked God for removing the memories of my nighttime fears and sorrows, and I stopped trying to remember. For me, there is no such thing as a good dream.

When I became pregnant and started researching what to expect, it didn't take long for me to find the little tidbit about dreams becoming more vivid. "Ha!" I thought. "Not a problem, I don't remember them anyway, and that's the way I like it." Famous last words.

So far I've remembered three: the gist of one of them and some details of the other two.

The first two weren't really that bad. They were both early on in the pregnancy, either the same night or within a few nights of each other. For the first, in the dream, I was very close to my due date, still here in Egypt (although that won't be the case in real life), when Jeff told me that he was going on a sailing trip with a friend. (No, Jeff doesn't sail, but in the dream he did, and the friend desperately needed him to go for some reason that was not explained to me.) I cried and begged him not to go, sure that something would happen and he wouldn't come back. He went anyway. In my dream, it was like one of those movies, where you see the person sitting still and time passing all around her--I sat on the sofa and did absolutely nothing the whole time he was gone, which I think was several days, possibly weeks; I didn't even eat. I just sat there, numb and abandoned. Then he came back and asked me what I had done while he was gone. I couldn't tell him; for me, it was like he had just walked out the door. I had shut down and I couldn't explain where the time had gone. He was very concerned. Then I woke up. This dream was miserable while I was in it, but as soon as I woke up, I was fine. I decided that apparently I had a fear of being abandoned, but even my subconscious knew that Jeff would never abandon me, so I shrugged it off.

The second dream is the one I only remember the gist of. In this dream, I left. I didn't want to but I had to. I was completely alone and afraid, hiding in some abandoned area from something bad that was following me. But in the dream I prayed and somehow knew it would all turn out okay. Then I woke up. I chose to interpret this dream in a reassuring way as well--I know that no matter how I feel or what my situation, God is there and will take care of me. Not so bad for me. Downright pleasant, considering my usual nighttime horrors.

Then there was the dream I had last night. It was, without a doubt, the worst dream I have ever had. And I remember way too many details. Way too many. In the dream, I was with my husband and my mother when my mother told me that my sister had committed suicide. (In real life, there is no indication at all that she would ever do such a thing--she isn't even depressed.) I remember feeling the numbness that can be such a blessing in times of horrific news, the numbness that shields the mind from having to take it all in at once. And then I had to say something. My mind skittered across the questions that I knew I eventually would want--or need--to have answered. Why? How? As soon as I thought of a question, I recoiled from it, knowing that I couldn't handle the answer. Finally I settled on a question I could handle: When is the funeral? But as soon as I opened my mouth to ask, I lost control. I started sobbing and buried my face in my hands, trying to hold the emotion in until I could stuff it away somewhere. Then suddenly I was somewhere else, with someone else, who I don't know, other than that she was female. We were walking along a wide asphalt path with manicured lawns on either side. She was chattering on about some inane topic like people do when they don't know what to say about the thing that really matters, but I wasn't paying attention to what she was saying. I felt a burning need to know when my sister's funeral was, and I knew that this other person could tell me. But again, when I opened my mouth to ask, I lost control. That time, when I covered my face with my hands, I woke up.

I woke up gasping for air. I looked around my room, realized it was only a dream, and burst into tears. That's never happened to me before. I've woken up crying and even yelling before, but as soon as I realize it's only a dream, I'm able to let it go. Always--that's a skill I've spent a lot of time learning, and I've gotten really good at it. But this time I couldn't. I was struggling so hard to hold it all in, to stay quiet and not wake up Jeff, that it physically hurt. I got up and went into the bathroom, where I just cried for a good ten minutes. When I thought I was okay again, I went back to bed, but before I even lay down, I started crying again. Back into the bathroom I went. Eventually I calmed down enough to go back to sleep, but when I woke up again this morning, it was still there--which is very unusual; even if I do remember when I wake up at night, I don't remember the next morning, not more than the gist of it. But this one, I still remembered so clearly. I started to tell Jeff about it but started crying again and decided that maybe if I just didn't think about it, it would go away. It hasn't. It's lingered all day, making me tired and teary-eyed. I took a nap this morning, because I know that the more tired I am, the more emotional I get. It didn't help.

So now I'm writing about it, hoping that if I express it in this way, I'll be able to release it. I don't understand why this one is hanging on so tightly. There is no truth in this dream that I can discover. There is no reason to fear that my sister is suicidal. There is no reason for me to remember this dream. This dream has been haunting me all day--and on Easter, for crying out loud! It needs to go away already.

Which leads me back to the beginning, with some modification.

I do not merely hate dreams. I utterly despise, abhor, and loathe them.

Sugar and spice
and everything nice
that's what little girls are made of

Sunshine and rainbows
and ribbons for hair bows
that's what little girls are made of

Tea parties, laces
and baby doll faces
that's what little girls are made of

                     ~ Anonymous Author


I have a feeling they're also made of spit up, poo, tears, and wails, but also coos, cuddles, smiles, and laughs.

I guess we'll be finding out come August.

That's right--we had our 20-week ultrasound last Wednesday. The doctor wasn't totally sure, because Baby was being modest, but he was "pretty certain" that we have a daughter. We'll try to confirm at our next ultrasound in early May.

So how do we feel about having a daughter? We're both very happy, of course! Jeff told me in the doctor's office that I was beaming. He's always said that as long as our child is healthy, he'll be happy--I think the exact words were "Ten and ten and I'm good"--even as he consistently used masculine pronouns with regard to Baby. (He accurately pointed out that as long as the sex is unknown, it's grammatically correct to use masculine pronouns.) Meanwhile, I've used feminine pronouns all along, spent more time and energy putting feminine names together, and daydreamed about our little girl. I've been well aware of the fact that I would be very happy with either a boy or a girl, but I somehow couldn't think of this child as a boy for more than a couple of hours at a time.

Now we officially get to start picking out our daughter's name! I've been looking at and playing with names for a long time, since well before we started trying to have a baby. I was ready to pick a boy name and a girl name beginning the day we got the positive pregnancy test, but Jeff would have none of it. "Why do the work twice?" he asked. He refused to consider names until we knew the baby's sex. Of course, even now, I'm planning to have one of each picked out, just in case Baby surprises us on her birthday by being a him--it's been known to happen, folks. But for now we'll focus on the girl name first, and then I'll work on getting Jeff to see the wisdom of picking out a boy name too--although if the next ultrasound confirms her status as a her, it'll be an uphill battle.

That's all for today--I just wanted to share the news. I'm hoping before too long to put up a post showing Baby's development through ultrasound pictures, since we've had so many ... but maybe I'll wait until after the May ultrasound to do that so I can post a complete set. For today I'll just share my favorite sonogram so far--one of the ones taken during the nucal translucency ultrasound on 30 January. I love how Baby looks so much like a teddy bear in this one, and how the placenta or whatever that is by her side appears to be cradling her.


Have a good week, everyone!

The last full day of our Nile cruise started with an excursion to a couple of sites in Aswan. It was a beautiful day in Aswan, sunny, cool, and windy. Like every other day on the cruise, the absence of air pollution was divine--we breathed deeply and admired the bright blue sky.

Our first stop was the Unfinished Obelisk--an obelisk (the same shape as the Washington Monument) still lying uncompleted in the granite quarry. It originally was supposed to be 42 meters (almost 138 feet by my calculations, although Wikipedia says 120 feet) tall and would have been the tallest obelisk had it been completed. It was abandoned when the granite cracked. Its presence in the quarry apparently has helped egyptologists figure out how obelisks were made and transported in ancient Egyptian times. This website has a nice description of how the obelisks--which each were made from a single huge piece of granite--were removed from the ground. It concurs nicely with what I remember being told by Hesham: A harder stone was used to dig a row of holes around the intended obelisk, and wood was placed into those holes. Then water was poured over it, causing the wood to expand and split the rock. Heated bricks and cold water were used to smooth the sides. I'm not sure how they actually raised the obelisk from the quarry, but it was transported to a boat and from there to whatever site it was intended for. Once at the site, a hole was dug at the intended location for the obelisk's base to sit down into. Then sand was removed from beneath the bottom of the obelisk so that it slid into the hole and ended up standing upright--as a precaution, a hill of sand had been built on the other side, so that the obelisk wouldn't tip over too far as it fell. Once the obelisk was securely in its location, the hill was removed.

boat drivers all tried to fit their boats into the area right beside the dock--an area large enough for only a few of them. Boats that were dropping off passengers gently nosed empty boats out of their way as they slowly edged toward the dock; empty boats did the same, as the drivers hoped to pick up passengers; and full boats pushed their way through the throng trying to get away from shore. It was classical Egyptian transportation, except that in the boats, it was perfectly okay to make contact with the other vehicles--a practice that is frowned upon when the vehicles in question are cars! Once our group was settled in a boat and clear of the throng, we enjoyed a short ride to the island. We passed other islands on the way and enjoyed the lush greenery and stark rock formations.

The spectacular views continued once we were on Agilika Island. Hesham led us to a side area where we sat while he explained the history of the temple we were to see. The Temple of Philae got its name from its original home--the island of Philae, located about 550 meters (1800 feet) from Agilika. It was built there because
Philae was believed to be where one of the pieces of Osiris was buried, and where his wife Isis found it in order to reconstruct his body and bring him back to life. Apparently temples to Isis were built in each of the traditional locations where Osiris's pieces were hidden. Philae actually was a little too small to hold the temple that the builders wanted to create, so modifications had to be made to the traditional design. The modification that I remember is that, whereas most temples were built with the halls and sanctuary in a straight line, at Philae there was a slight offset, because the temple would not have fit on the island had it been built in a straight line.

So if the temple was built on Philae, why did we go to Agilika to see it? Because it was moved. Philae, already a small island, was partially submerged when the first Aswan dam--the Aswan Low Dam--was completed in 1902, jeopardizing the temple. When the construction of the Aswan High Dam was begun in 1960, it was obvious that the island would be flooded even more, making it even less likely that the temple would survive and cutting off access to the soon-to-be submerged temple whether it survived or not. So UNESCO started a project to save the temple, as well as other sites located on what was to become the floor of Lake Nasser. Dams were built around the island to relieve the flooding. The temple was recorded and measured carefully to ensure that it could be reconstructed accurately in its new home. Finally, the buildings were dismantled--creating around 40,000 pieces--and moved to Agilika, a larger and higher island where the reassembled temple would remain above the waterline. Below is a picture of what's left of Phileo from Agilika.


The information I couldn't remember about Philae and the temple was found at: Wikipedia and  Egypt Travel.

After our tour of the temple and its outbuildings on Agilika island, we returned to the ship for lunch. Then we enjoyed a felucca ride on the Nile that afternoon. The ride was nice, as we passed by several beautiful sites, but it definitely was odd. We wore life jackets. In Cairo, I'm not sure the felucca guys would recognize a life jacket if someone smacked them upside the head with it--they're just not used. In Aswan, we were required to wear them. Of course, that was an Abercrombie & Kent requirement--we were told to bring the life jackets from our cabins--not a felucca guy requirement. But it still made it feel less like an authentic Egyptian experience. It quickly became more authentic, however, when the two felucca guys brought out their satchels of souvenirs for sale before we went back to the dock.

That evening, we had our "farewell banquet." The next morning after breakfast, we checked out of our cabin. Several passengers headed straight for the airport, some to go home and others to fly to Abu Simbel to see the temple there. Jeff and I relaxed in the public areas of the ship until noon, when we were picked up to go to the airport. Our original itinerary had shown the cruise not ending until lunch, so our flight to Cairo left in early afternoon. Had we been notified of the change in itinerary, we may have booked a morning trip to Abu Simbel, but it also was nice just to spend some more time relaxing on the ship. I was a little templed out at that point. I hear that Abu Simbel is amazing, so I'd hate to see it in a less-than-eager state of mind--hopefully we'll be able to get down that way again before we leave Egypt.

Maybe a Lake Nasser cruise early next spring?