Meeting the Greats

This last weekend, Daniel and I and Tirzah Mae took a trip into Missouri to see Daniel’s grandparents – Tirzah Mae’s great-grandparents.

We had a sweet time visiting with Daniel’s grandparents, who were enchanted by our little Tirzah Mae.

While we were there, I took the opportunity to take some photos (of course!)

Tirzah Mae and her great-grandpa Garcia

Jack was delighted to hold his littlest great-granddaughter.

A closer look

Grandpa’s live-in caregiver and Daniel’s cousin really wanted him to shave his beard. Daniel and I thought it was fun (and I think Jack’s inclined to agree with us!).

Tirzah Mae and Great-Grandma Garcia

Tirzah Mae sits with her great-grandma Garcia – who told me again and again how glad she was that I was “nursing.” “They really discouraged it in my day, dear – It just wasn’t done.”

Daniel fruitlessly tries to get Tirzah Mae to look at the camera

Another three generation shot – Irene and Daniel are looking at the camera, but none of us could convince Tirzah Mae to follow suit.


Family is clamoring for more photos, so I’ve jumped out of order (skipping November and December photos) to give them a more recent photo album. If you already have a password, follow the link to the January album and enter the password to see the album. If you don’t already have a password, e-mail me at b3master@.menterz.com to get it.


Tirzah Mae and her Mother’s Wonderful, Beautiful, Very Good Day

6 am-My husband brings me breakfast in bed while I breastfeed Tirzah Mae.

7 am-I take a chance and take a bath while Tirzah Mae is sleeping in bed. She stays asleep.

8 am-Tirzah Mae wakes up and I go to pick her up with my shower cap on. Tirzah Mae stares at my forehead, a frown furrowing her own. I take off the shower cap and as Tirzah Mae sees my hair she breaks into a wide, truly social smile – her first. I change her and set her in the swing while I rinse her dirty diaper. I return to find her gurgling at and reaching for the mobile above her – another first. We breastfeed and leave for Tuesday connection. Tirzah Mae makes no complaint when I load her into the carseat – she’s too busy looking around, as if seeing the world through new eyes.

9 am-We arrive at Tuesday Connection (our church’s primary Women’s Bible study) almost on time. There is delicious food. There is good discussion. There are several enjoyable conversations. Tirzah Mae stays alert on my lap during small group time, sleeps in the wrap during large group time.

noon-We breastfeed and Tirzah Mae falls asleep in my lap, affording me the opportunity to get something done on the computer. I open a new document and open my Bible to Exodus and lose myself in the word for the next couple of hours, breaking only periodically to reposition Tirzah Mae when she wakes for a second and third and fourth course.

2 pm-A sunny 70 degrees, the afternoon is too beautiful to stay inside. Tirzah and I set out, with her in the wrap and a song in my heart. We walk along the river for a couple miles. Tirzah Mae sleeps and I pray.

3 pm-I realize I’m thirsty as we approach the Douglas street bridge. The library is just a couple blocks down, I figure I’ll grab a drink before our return trip. Tirzah Mae gets hungry so we settle ourselves in the seldom-used lounge by the board room to breastfeed. We strike up a conversation with the switchboard operator, who used to work in a hospital nursery and doesn’t stop asking questions about Tirzah Mae. I’m glad for the conversation.

4 pm-We head home, Tirzah Mae now facing outward in the Moby. She watches the cars go by and explores the shadows on the ground. We start supper and sit down to breastfeed again.

5 pm-We breastfeed and Tirzah Mae allows me a free hand, giving me opportunity to read Nightstand posts and to peck out comments with one hand.

6 pm-My beloved, Tirzah Mae’s papa arrives home and we sit beside each other, eating dinner and discussing our days.

Tirzah Mae and her mother had a wonderful, beautiful, very good day yesterday.


A Much-Needed Holiday

Many people might describe my personality as driven – and, when I think of it, that’s probably a rather apt description.

Driven recalls to mind an animal with a man behind it, cracking a whip or wielding a cane. So long as the animal keeps moving and moving as fast as the driver desires, he is comfortable enough. But should the animal slow or stop? He feels the whip upon his back.

That’s me.

I am the driven and the driver, weary and wanting rest but beating myself up when I slow or stop.

Adding a newborn to the mix adds a layer of fatigue I never imagined was possible. The driver insists that I get something done – that the house be cleaned, the dinner prepared, the blog post written. The daughter insists that I hold her rather than sleep.

So is it any surprise that I emerged from bed yesterday after a highly productive but exhausting Saturday followed by an utterly sleepless (okay, I got four or five thirty minute stretches) night and announced to my husband that I wanted a break.

“I just want to take a day off and read all my library books,” I told him.

Which got me thinking. Could I read all my library books in a day?

Obviously, I wouldn’t be able to literally read them all completely in a day – but could I even read a chapter of each?

I asked my husband for permission to take a 24-hour holiday – and at 1:30 pm yesterday I began my holiday.

I breastfed Tirzah Mae and made dinner – and I read, and read, and read.

By 1:30 pm today, I had read one chapter each of 41 books (40 nonfiction and 1 fiction), leaving just 4 nonfiction and 3 fiction books unread (also 24 children’s picture books that I didn’t even try to read).

I feel great.

It was a much-needed holiday (and I didn’t feel the whip crack even once.)


Back on bedrest…

… but this time it’s self-imposed.

I woke up for our early morning feeding yesterday with pain and hardness in my right breast. Not particularly surprising considering I’d been sleeping on my right side and we’d gone longer than normal between feedings.

I put Tirzah Mae to the breast and we breastfed for two hours. But instead of feeling better by the time we were done, I was feeling worse. Not only was I exhausted, I’d started shaking uncontrollably and the pain was bad enough that I couldn’t change positions.

By then, there wasn’t a question in my mind. I was sure I had mastitis. But on a Sunday morning, what is one to do?

I hung out on the couch, breastfeeding on the affected side first every two hours and sleeping while Daniel took Tirzah Mae in between.

When I was sure my sister would be home from church, I texted her seeking sympathy. She concurred with my self- diagnosis, offered sympathy, and ordered me to the doctor for antibiotics.

I’d been planning to call first thing Monday morning – the last time we went to urgent care on a Sunday, we waited 4 hours. Neither Tirzah Mae nor I could go that long without breastfeeding – and I didn’t relish exposing Tirzah Mae to a waiting room full of sick people for four hours. I texted and then called my sister to explain my predicament. She agreed that it was a tough one but couldn’t in good conscience recommend anything but that I start antibiotics immediately.

We went to urgent care.

The receptionist asked what I was there for – I confidently told her that I had mastitis. She asked if I’d been diagnosed, and Daniel’s voice beside me answered “self”. He’d come in unbeknownst to me from parking the car. I tried to defend myself – “and by my PA sister”. In my head, I was pleading, “I’m not one of those I-Googled-it self-diagnosers. I know what I’m talking about.” But really, it wasn’t important.

We waited maybe 15 minutes before I was called back for vitals. My temperature was just 99.4 “Great,” I thought, “now they’ll just think it’s a clogged duct. My sister sent me here for antibiotics and they won’t give them to me.” But then I was back in the waiting room.

Daniel read. I held Tirzah Mae. I nursed Tirzah Mae. I tried to relax the legs that were starting to tremble. Tirzah Mae started to fuss. I stood up and she calmed, but then the room started to sway. I asked Daniel to take Tirzah Mae. He did and tried to strike up a conversation – but my energy was completely focused on enduring. Nothing was left for conversation.

After an interminable wait, they called my name. They took me back to the exam room where I waited again. This time, it was only for a short while before the doctor walked in. I gave a brief history, explained apologetically that my temperature had been higher when I’d taken it at home. She brushed aside my explanation – “That temperature was just a point in time – and the hot and cold and shakiness and achiness you’ve described is consistent with fever.” She did a quick exam. “I think you do have mastitis,” she confirmed.

She instructed me to not quit breastfeeding (yay for doctors who follow best practices – there was a time not too long ago where physicians encouraged quitting – or at least pumping and dumping – for mastitis.) She encouraged me to try to empty that breast at each feeding. She gave me the okay to use Tylenol to manage the pain and fever. And she prescribed me an antibiotic.

I put myself on bedrest.

The only time I’ve felt worse is the day before we delivered Tirzah Mae – the day I felt so weak and awful that I gave up on the vaginal delivery I’d dreamed of practically my whole life. Thankfully, the Tylenol has worked wonders (as long as I take it consistently every four hours.)

I’m not going to try to be heroic with this one. I’m going to focus my efforts on getting better. Which means Tirzah Mae and I are staying in bed and breastfeeding frequently. I’m getting out to go to the bathroom, change her diaper, and get food. That’s it.

‘Cause I’m gonna get better, darn it, and I’m going to get better QUICKLY!


In which I am no longer employed

Today marks a last for me – and tomorrow a first.

Today is my last day of employment. Today, I remain a WIC dietitian.

Tomorrow is my first day of…

Well, what exactly is tomorrow my first day of? What exactly am I as of tomorrow?

Calling today my last day of employment might lead one to think that tomorrow is my first day of unemployment. But that wouldn’t be true. You see, the technical definition of unemployment is that one is not working for pay but IS actively seeking work for pay. That’s not me.

Maybe I’m joining the ranks of the underemployed-as one who is highly skilled but working a low wage job that does not use her skills. I doubt that. For one, unless you count my monthly “allowance” (Daniel and I both have one), I will have no wage whatsoever. Secondly, I disagree with the idea that what I’ll be doing is low-skill or won’t make use of my education or expertise.

Maybe if I told you what I’d be doing, we’d be able to come up with a better label for my employment status.

But what exactly will I be doing as of tomorrow?

I’ll be at home, taking care of my daughter. I’ll be feeding her, changing her, bathing her, rocking her to sleep, and making sure she gets that all-important tummy time. But I don’t intend to be a stay-at-home mommy.

I’ll be doing laundry, doing dishes, making dinner, and scrubbing the toilet. But I don’t intend to be a housewife.

Let’s call it being a stay-at-home wife. My goal is to care for our daughter and care for our home in such a way that Daniel is able to be happier, more productive, and better loved.

Yes, I’m leaving paid employment to be at home with our daughter – but ultimately, I’m leaving paid employment so I can be a better helper to my husband.

I’ll be taking a pay cut, sure – but I have a feeling this job will require every bit of skill and education I possess.

I’m not going to be unemployed or underemployed – I’m going to be a happily unpaid full-time helpmate.

Employment statisticians can make if that what they will.


The Incarnation: God become infant

** This post was copied from our Christmas letter this year – so don’t feel bad about skipping it if you’ve already read it. Otherwise, you are definitely obligated to read it in its entirety :-) **

It’s cliché to talk about how having children changes your view of God – but having a newborn this Advent season has definitely given me a whole new perspective on the Incarnation.

God became man. It’s a weighty thought any time – but this Advent, I’m struck with the reality that God became infant.

Part of being a human is having physical and psychological needs – a need for food and clothing and shelter, for comfort and companionship. And part of being a human newborn is having no way of fulfilling those needs by oneself – and only one way of expressing those needs to others. An infant cries.

As Tirzah Mae squalls in her bed or on a blanket or in my arms, I contemplate that Jesus – God Himself – cried. And as I run through the list of possible causes of Tirzah Mae’s distress, I contemplate that Jesus had an earthly mother who was just as clueless as I, who struggled to meet the needs of her newborn. I contemplate how the Creator of the Universe became dependent on His creation. What humiliation! And for what cause?

Philippians 2:6-8 tells us why Jesus came: “…though he was in the form of God, [He] did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.”

Jesus had all the needs humans have save one. Everything my Tirzah Mae needs, He needed – except one thing. Tirzah Mae, perfect though she may seem, was born sinful, under the wrath of God. Jesus was not. He had no need to be saved from the wrath of God because He didn’t deserve the wrath of God. Yet Jesus Christ came, bore the humiliation of being a human infant so that He could go to the cross – so that He could bear the wrath Tirzah Mae and I deserve. I can feed and clothe and comfort my Tirzah Mae, but I can never save her. Yet Jesus – Jesus came as a little infant like her so that He could save her.

Cliché though it may be, as I reflect on and care for my wonderful early Christmas gift, I am reminded of the greatest Christmas gift of all – and I am thankful that God became infant in Jesus Christ, that God became sin in Jesus Christ, that God bore the penalty of my sin in Jesus Christ, and that in Jesus Christ my greatest need is met.

I pray this Christmas that we all may come to know the great salvation for which Jesus humiliated Himself.


This Year, I have a Baby

Come January first of every year, I have a list of a hundred dozen things I want to do that year. Some years I even blog about those things.

Last year, I had a goal game.
Two years before that, I was going to do 2012 Things in 2012.

This year, I have a baby.

My Early Christmas Gift

That doesn’t mean I don’t have plenty of things I want to get done this year, plenty of things I’m not itching to get started on (or finish up). But it does mean that I’m not making any beginning-of-the-year resolutions.

Every year past, I knew that my grand schemes would peter out somewhere between February and April – and I was okay with that. Grand schemes are fun while they last and I have no problem abandoning them once they’re dead. Generally, I still glean a few good things, establish a few good habits, and get a few things done to make them worth their while.

But this year, I know that any grand schemes would never even hit the ground.

Two unplanned months of being a stay-at-home wife and mother of a newborn has taught me that.

I used to talk about all the things I would do once I was a stay-at-home and didn’t have to devote 40 hours of every week to an outside job. Now I’ve learned that I replaced a 40 hour a week job (teaching mothers how to feed their children) with a job that’s at least as time consuming (feeding my own child). Between pumping and breastfeeding and cleaning pumping supplies and dealing with spit-up, I’ve spent at least 40 hours a week over the past 8 weeks just feeding Tirzah Mae.

So I’m adjusting my expectations down.

Maybe come February to April (when my usual grand schemes are sinking into oblivion), I’ll be ready to scheme grand schemes again – or maybe I’ll discover that life post-newborn is still too taxing for grand schemes.

That’s okay.

I’m a different woman today than I was last year and the year before and the year before.

This year, I have a baby.

Gazing into each others' eyes

She’s changed my life. And that’s okay.


Grace for Today

All my worst fears came true in Tirzah Mae’s birth.

Is it odd that I never really feared for our baby’s safety? There were days when I was distracted or particularly active and didn’t notice movement so I worried – but, in general, I was at peace.

What I really feared was risking out of home birth, having to deliver in a hospital. When I started retaining water, I feared pre-eclampsia. Most of all, I feared a c-section.

All my worst fears came true in Tirzah Mae’s birth.

And God’s grace was there for each circumstance as it arose.

God’s grace was not there for the fear and anxiety leading up to delivery.

I worried and fretted and stressed over the potential of pre-eclampsia, of risking out of home birth, of having a hospital birth, of a c-section. In all that, grace was absent.

God gave His command long ago when He told the people not to worry about tomorrow.

Worrying about tomoorrow is fruitless- tomorrow will have worries, sure, but God’s grace is available for today’s trials.

Despite my weeks of increasing dread, when the time came, God’s grace and peace was there.

When the urine test at the midwife’s office showed 3+ protein, I went into the waiting room and told my husband and grieved for less than 5 minutes over the loss of a homebirth. God’s grace was there.

When the OB checked my blood pressure and my protein and sent me to the hospital, I settled in for a long hospitalization with a calm every nurse remarked upon. God’s grace was there.

When the perinatalogist said that my platelets were droping and we needed to induce at 32 weeks, God’s grace was there.

When 12 hours of magnesium and cervidil left me exhausted and feeling a foreigner in my own skin, I calmly discussed with my husband and God’s grace was there as I asked the doctor for what had been my worst fear – a c-section.

I learned that God gives grace, not for the worries of tomorrow He commanded us to cast on Him, but for the actual events He gives us in today.

The hymn proclaims

“Strength for today
and bright hope for tomorrow
Blessings all mine
With ten thousand beside.”

And the hymn is absolutely right. God gives the strength and grace for every today – but gives only the hope that allows us to cast every tomorrow’s anxieties upon Him.

May I, may we ever bask in today’s grace – and ever cast tomorrow’s anxieties on Him whose grace is sufficient when tomorrow becomes today.


Lactose intolerance in babies

It happens in my office all the time. A mother declares that her infant is lactose intolerant: “Everyone in my family is”.

The professional in me keeps a neutral facial expression while I internally groan. And since the doctor has marked that the infant should receive Similac Sensitive for Fussiness and Gas, helpfully providing an additional diagnosis of “lactose intolerance”, I issue the infant checks for the lactose-free formula.

I groan because lactose intolerance in babies is incredibly rare. Babies’ guts make the lactase enzyme so they can break down the lactose found in their mother’s milk (all mammals’ milk includes lactose). It is only as children grow older and less dependent on mothers’ milk that their bodies stop producing the enzyme to process it.

The few exceptions are 1) primary lactase deficiency, which rarely ever occurs, 2) secondary lactase deficiency, where a gastrointestinal illness temporarily wipes out the body’s ability to make lactase, and 3) prematurity, where an infant is born before her gut lining has started to produce lactase.

Which brings me to my biggest groan.

Tirzah Mae had only ever received my breastmilk, slowly increasing feedings as the IV nutrition was decreased. Most of what she got was via the feeding tube, but she’d started taking it by bottle in the last few days – and we’d started practicing breastfeeding once a day as well.

As I prepared myself for our breastfeeding practice, I noticed that Tirzah Mae had spit up – and I mentioned it to the nurse, who observed that the spit up was bright yellow (my color discrimination has been poor since I delivered, so I didn’t notice anything odd about it under the dim lights.) When the nurse checked the residuals left in Tirzah Mae’s stomach, they were green. Feedings were put on hold and breastfeeding practice suspended.

That evening, the nurse practitioner came in to discuss the situation. She explained the plan: to start again with smaller feedings and work our way up again – and asked me how much dairy I consumed.

She explained how preemies sometimes don’t yet have the ability to process lactose and requested that I reduce my intake of dairy down to maybe one serving a day – and maybe I could try lactose-free milk instead of regular.

I put on my patient face, inquiring about what she thinks might help, while inwardly groaning.

You see, despite the opinions of plenty of doctors and nurses, lactose intake by a woman actually has no impact on the amount of lactose present in her milk.

In a lactose-tolerant woman, any lactose she eats is broken down into its component sugars in her gut, from which the component sugars are absorbed into her blood stream. Then, independently, her breasts take sugars from her blood stream and synthesize them into lactose for her breastmilk.

In a lactose-intolerant woman, any lactose she eats passes through her gut into her colon unabsorbed – and bacteria in her gut ferment it, producing the typical symptoms of lactose intolerance (gas, diarrhea, abdominal cramping, etc.) Then, independently, the mother’s breasts take sugars from her blood stream and synthesize them into lactose for her breastmilk.

It’s simple science, really. But doctors and nurses didn’t spend their educations studying the science of digestion and absorption and metabolism like dietitians do.

So they give silly, unscientific advice related to diet and mothers swear by it because they see improvement when the prematurity (or the GI illness) that caused the problem in the first place resolves (sort of like thinking the antibiotic cured your child’s cold when it resolves in 7-10 days)**.

I choose not to argue and dutifully consume just one serving of dairy daily (actually, I only ever consumed one serving of lactose-containing dairy daily – since my former pattern was one cup of milk, one cup of yogurt, and one serving of hard cheese daily). I label my breastmilk “low dairy” and dream of the day when I can go back to eating whatever I want to without being dishonest. (Since the only reason I’m not eating the dairy now is so I wouldn’t be dishonest in writing “low dairy” on my breastmilk – I already know the restriction isn’t affecting her at all.)

**Caveat: Some women who are told that their infant has lactose intolerance and who reduce dairy as a result discover that this truly is helpful (and symptoms resume when milk is reintroduced). This is generally a case of mistaken identity. While lactose in mom’s intake and lactose in breastmilk are not related, the more cow’s milk a mother consumes, the more cow’s milk proteins will end up in her milk – and some babies do have sensitivities to cow’s milk proteins, which would resolve when mom reduces dairy intake.**


Protector and Sustainer

“How old is she?”

It’s the natural question mothers of infants field every day.

It’s the question mothers of preemies just don’t quite know how to answer.

Tirzah Mae is 2 weeks and 3 days old – if you’re dating from when she left my womb.

But she’s just 34 weeks and 4 days old – if you’re counting gestational age. Which means she should still be in my womb – should still have another six weeks in my womb.

For me, this is the hardest part of being the mother of a preemie.

Tirzah Mae and Mama

Tirzah Mae should still be in my womb. I should be protecting her, sustaining her, giving her oxygen and nutrition and warmth. Instead, she lies in an isolette away from me. My body couldn’t protect her, couldn’t sustain her, couldn’t give her what she needed. My body failed her.

I know there wasn’t anything I did to cause the severe pre-eclampsia, wasn’t anything I could have done to have held it off longer than we did. We already managed to keep her in the womb 8 days longer than when we first acknowledged the problem as severe. I, the midwife, the doctors did all we could. My body just shut down that last day and she had to be delivered.

But that doesn’t stop the profound sense of loss and helplessness. I lost two months of pregnancy – Tirzah Mae lost two months of my protection. Now being told my belly’s so small and I look so good for a woman who’s just had a baby takes on a new sting. Now should be a time of glorying in my baby bump, not of rapidly returning to my prepregnancy state. As my little girl thrashes about on her isolette when a new nurse doesn’t know to swaddle her, I try to soothe with my voice from a distance while I scrub in the requisite 3 minutes. She should still be in my womb, nestled tightly to keep her from worrying at her limbs being all stretched out. She should be hearing my voice, my heartbeat, my bowel sounds and breathing all the time, calming her. Instead, she settles for a voice across the room, echoing oddly inside her isolette, telling her that it’s okay, mama’s here.

People have told me, from early pregnancy, that parenting is an exercise in trusting God. I acknowledged that, even as I researched all the right things to do to prepare for conception, to reduce risk of pregnancy complications, to set my child up for the best of health. I had it researched, had the plan worked up, and scrupulously followed the plan – and I had complications nonetheless.

Sweet Tirzah Mae

In the earliest days after Tirzah Mae’s birth, when I was struggling most with the sense that I had failed her, the chorus to an old hymn resounded in my head:

“He hideth my soul in the cleft of the rock
That shadows a dry thirsty land.
He hideth my life in the depths of His love
And covers me there with His hand”

I looked at the Scripture the hymn points to – Exodus 33 – where Moses requests to see God’s glory and God declares that no man can see Him and live. But God arranges a way – He hides Moses in the cleft of a rock; He covers Moses with His hand; He makes His glory pass by. Moses sees God’s backside and LIVES, hidden by God’s own hand.

And God opened my eyes to His character, to how this story foreshadows the cross. Our biggest danger, Tirzah Mae’s biggest danger is not the harsh world outside her mother’s womb. Her biggest danger is to be consumed by the wrath of God. Yet God made a way to protect her – God offers to protect her in the cleft of a rock while He pours out His wrath on His right hand, His only Son.

If God is willing to go to such lengths to hide me, to hide my Tirzah Mae from His wrath – how can He not guard and sustain her in the little dangers of life as a preemie?

As I mourn my inability to protect Tirzah Mae, God reminds me that He is her protector.

And as I mourn my inability to sustain Tirzah Mae, He takes me again and again to the Scriptures that assert that He is the sustainer of all life.

“In Him we live and move and have our being.”
~Acts 17:28

“For by him all things were created, in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or authorities—all things were created through him and for him. And he is before all things, and in him all things hold together.”
~Colossians 1:16

The truth of God’s character comforts my heart and I raise my Tirzah Mae up to God. As much as I love her, He loves her more. As much as I am limited in my ability to protect and sustain her, He is limitless. He is her protector and sustainer. As much as I can be an agent by which He guards her, I shall be – but ultimately, I must surrender her to Him again and again.