When the holidays roll around, we are absolutely obligated to call our extended family members. Such is the price we pay for living in peace and quiet the rest of the year. As usual, my dad warned us that he was about to call his mother, giving me time to queasily ponder what accusations she was going to throw my way this time. She almost certainly would scold me for not being in touch; I long to tell her that I never call b/c every time I do, she remonstrates w/ me, which in turn makes me more reluctant to call, which in turn makes her more querulous.
My suspicions were immediately confirmed, and I did my best to endure by answering her as noncommittally and laconically as I could. Just when I thought I was going to have to hang up on her, the conversation turned to gossip about our extended family, specifically my cousin Igor, and his wife Olga. It turns out that a couple of wks earlier in December, Olga had given birth to a little girl, whom named they named Anna Dragon.
That’s right, they named her after me!! In the words of my other cousin Mischa, “Die kleine Tochter von Igor und Olga heißt Anna Dragon. 
Ein schöner Name für ein hübsches Mädchen.”
I already see a lot of Olga in her.
I had to let my babtsya go soon afterwards, b/c a pleasant chat about the wedding of a family friend turned into, “You didn’t read my letter, or else you’d remember what I said about my wedding,” at which point I hurriedly interrupted w/ a blatant non sequitur and palmed the phone off on my mom (who incidentally was about due for a chat…she hadn’t spoken to my babtsya in years. Literally).
The news made me feel amazing, just so touched and flattered and…well, grateful, really. Almost teary. It’s tradition in much of Eastern Europe to name a child after someone in the family; in fact, if I wasn’t fairly sure that my mother would strangle me, I would name a daughter after my babtsya. They had a number of options…Maria or Polina…but they selected my name. And I’m so excited that Igor and Olga finally became parents. I’ve been wanting them to procreate for years now. I know that sounds a bit creepy–not a sentiment I’ve been exactly broadcasting–but they’re just such wonderful people–exactly the sort of people who should have children (high praise, given the esteem in which I hold most of our species). They’re smart too; Igor and Olga speak at least eight languages btwn them, so I figure little Anna-D will know at least three (German, Ukrainian and Romanian, being the most likely).
A happy glow has persisted. I feel like I must have done something right. If I believed in omens or signs, I would take this as a good one.
