Amna, you have to know: your name was built carefully, with great tenderness. Craft and thought and meditation went into choosing it for you. The whole thing has a flow: Amna Eliot Abdelmahmoud.
Amna, because it?s the Arabic word for safe and sound?a promise your mama and I made to you, that we would keep you safe as long as we live. It was, more than anything, a wish writ real after a tragedy: about 11 months before you were born, we tasted the joy of pregnancy until it was cut short by a miscarriage. Our next try, we said, crossing our fingers, would be Amna. Safe. That?s you.
Mama picked it for you, and I instantly knew it was right. It fits you. You smile when you hear it. You?re just learning to say it now, and mama and I exchange a tearful look every time you say it, because it sounds so musical coming out of your tiny lips. Your middle name, Eliot, is because of T.S. and because of George and because it?s a writer?s name, soft and scholarly. But I would be remiss if I didn?t tell you the other secret function of it: it?s an escape hatch, too, from Amna. Maybe ?Amna? could be a burden, we thought. Maybe one day you?d tire of answering, ?Amna?s a different name?where is it from"? And if that day comes, we wanted you to have options.
You may have noticed, though, that you don?t have a safety parachute from your last name. It?s long, and it?s bulky, and it can?t be ignored. That?s also by design?my clunky gift to you.

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