Off!

24 hours from now, I'll be on a plane. We'll be spending the next two weeks in Germany, with a little side trip to Denmark thrown in as well. Looking forward to putting my German to use, eating things I can't get here, seeing friends and family, and seeing my first piece of Scandinavia. Norway and Finland... you know you're my true loves. I'll get to you someday soon. Preferably when I have more than 4 days to explore you.

Back in two weeks! With pictures!

The name

I've been thinking about names for a long time. Long before I was pregnant - long before I was even thinking about trying to get pregnant. It started in Beijing, when I was teaching English. One of my students was named something along the lines of Mei Lin... Mei Wa... Lin Mai... the actual name escapes me. She told me the story once of how she had been named. Her parents had been living some distance apart in the early days of their marriage, and her father would fly to visit her mother every few weeks. There was a mountain range between the two parents... the daughter was conceived in the winter... her name meant "Snow bird that flys over the mountain."

I loved the fact that her name really meant something, that it told a story. I've been a little bummed ever since, knowing that my own naming process wouldn't be nearly as poetic.

We've been talking about names quite a bit, trying to both come up with ground rules and make whatever we choose meaningful. Some decisions we've come to:

1. Little Steff man's middle name will be my maiden name. For me, this is a no brainer. I like the idea of using the middle name to honor someone you love - and now we'll be honoring my entire family.

2. Hot on the heels of  heels of this decision, no names beginning with A. I want to be a good mother, and I'm pretty sure good mothers don't give their kids the initials "ASS". Maybe he'd appreciate the humor. But probably not.

3. His name will be a German one. I'm pretty sure about this. It's a way to connect him to his dad's family and culture, since we're going to be raising him in the United States. I don't want him to say "my dad's from Germany." I want him to say "I'm half German."

4. He'll have a German name, but it won't be a weird one (weird by American standards, that is). No Lothar, no Wolfgang, no Joerg.

5. The name can't have two obviously different pronunciations - one in German and one in English. I was in love with the name Bastian for awhile, but realized that my pronunciation (Bah' * schee* ahn) would fly in the face of what most American would want to say (Sebastian minus the "Se"). Nope, not gonna do it. 

We've got a couple contenders right now, and are going to let them roll around on our tongues for awhile to see if either is a keeper. We'll share our choice with the rest of the world as soon as little Steff man is born... I like the idea of having a small surprise for everyone.

Two encounters

I had to go to the post office during my lunch hour one day last week. I don't generally like going to the post office, and I especially don't like losing a lunch hour to do it. Duty called though, and there I stood, eating hummus and pita while shuffling forward spot by spot.

Lucky me, I was called to the window of my favorite post office worker. I've always figured him for a Native American, though I've never asked him any questions about his ethnicity. Let's just say he's Native American. I like picturing him that way. He's got a soft, smooth voice, and he is always so pleasant. 

I asked him for a pen. "For you, the best pen," he said.  I had used the wrong tape to wrap my package. "I'll let it go for now, but make sure never to use this tape again." I promised him I wouldn't. And I won't. Our business concluded, I got ready to walk away. "Have a wonderful day," he said. "Take care of yourself and your family. Stay healthy."

I stopped in my tracks for a second. "Thank you," I said. I felt like he had just given me a blessing.

*          *          *

Later in the week, I had to leave work early to go to the dentist. My root canal was infected, and I needed antibiotics to put an end to the throbbing in my gums. This was actually my fourth visit to the dentist - in as many months - for the same problem. Long story.

In the elevator, I pressed "15." I was tired. I was worried about the infection. I was annoyed with the professional who had told me to wait until January to have anything done. As the car started upwards, I sighed and leaned my head against the wall.

"Are you okay?" 

I came back to reality and looked at the man standing across from me. He was in his 50s, and had a soft Indian / Pakistani accent. "Have you had a bad day? Are you feeling all right?" 

"Oh," I said, smiling. Nothing serious. Just a toothache. Going to the dentist." I pointed to the elevator doors as they opened for me.

"Ah." He laughed softly. "Good luck!"

"Thanks," I replied. I walked into my dentist's office, feeling good.