Baby goes to Egypt

Egyptians love babies. I’d been told ahead of time but thought it meant the waiters won’t glare at you when your little food chucker throws bread across the room. It actually meant that everyone you meet will peel back your blanket just to get a peek of your baby, kiss her, carry her around, bring her things to play with, and then gush about their five little ones at home. Weirded out at first (um, where is that dude going with our baby?), we quickly learned to enjoy the attention since it allowed us to chat with more locals and get some baby-free dinner time while she hung out with others.

So, while she couldn't care less about pyramids and tombs, she still had a blast. Like my own adventures, the most memorable moments can be described in terms of the unique cuisines sampled.

1. Choice bits from the pink carpet at the Windsor Hotel, last cleaned circa 1974.
2. Yummy Egyptian food (helped us clean every bowl of tahina and baba ghanouj that came our way).
3. Sand.
4. A live crab.
5. A local dairy specialty.

While the first three are standard fare, the other two require more detail.

The crab:

While we’ve learned the obvious about babies (once it's seen, it’s fair game for the mouth), we didn’t think it applied to live animals. But when Brett captured a small crab on the beach and attempted to do some show and tell, our eager seafood lover reached out and popped that sucker straight into her mouth. The image of her face with half the crab’s little legs flailing outside her mouth is priceless. She didn't get pinched and was quite angry when we pried her special treasure away. If we ever have a cockroach infestation to address, unleashing our girl should do the job pesticide-free.

The dairy

This is long, so you get two versions.

Short: Dilan got breastfed by an Egyptian lady while we were diving. Yes, that’s what I said. We were as surprised as you may be, but we're totally over it and it's fine.

Long: The Red Sea is one of the top diving destinations in the world, so there’s no way I was leaving without some underwater time. We planned to leave Miss D with the hotel’s babysitting service since her diving skills are still rather unrefined. Our dive shop’s owner offered up his wife to watch her. She was already watching her own tots, they did this often for other divers, and everyone seemed legit. Far more convenient than coordinating with our hotel, this even allowed me to easily come back and feed her between dives. Like many Egyptian families, the owner and his brother live together with their wives and children, so it was like a mini daycare. We dropped her off with a bottle of milk (just in case) and headed for our first dive. When I came back to feed her, the ladies joined me and we sat around making as much chat as you can make when you don’t really speak the same language. With a few English words and some hand signs, the sister in law talked on about feeding the kids, being pregnant, how Dilan liked banana, having four kids in the house, etc. But she kept going back to the feeding part. And she kept pointing at her boobs. And Dilan. And Mahmoud (her two year old). Okay, so we have something in common – I get it. But she kept on, because I didn't really get it.

After a few more tries by her (and a few more by me to make sure I REALLY got it), I reluctantly got the message. She breastfed Mahmoud. Since Dilan was hungry, she breastfed her too. Both boobs, in case I wondered. Wwwhhhaaat?

Um, I sent a bottle. And I was gone less than two hours. Apparently she refused her bottle and just wanted it dairy fresh, straight from Mahmoud’s mama. So, she did me the favor of favors and shared her goods. I gave her a big fake smile with big wide eyes and no words. Not what I expected. I couldn’t get angry – evidently this is culturally fine and she’s just letting me know.

Outside, I totally freaked (but with grace, since her husband was driving us). We can’t drink the water here. What about hepatitis? What about food-related nasty bacteria crap? I started crying, calmed down, and went on for the second dive. It was done. Ripping her out of there and bailing on our plans would have been unnecessarily awkward and worthless.

She didn’t do it again, and I don’t even care. After wrestling with a load of guilt, I realized that I did nothing wrong. Nothing, people (I say with a tinge of defensiveness). I never could have known to give explicit instructions to not nurse my child. I sent a bottle. They took great care of her -- a little too good, maybe (who knew they’d throw in a complimentary wet nurse?).

The woman was nursing a toddler and pregnant -- her milk was probably cleaner than mine. The CDC website and some nicely filled diapers relieved my health concerns and I no longer feel like a horrible mother.

Not a big deal. We laugh.