Pastor's boy

Many of you have followed the saga of our pastor's love story. (For recaps, see here, here, here, and here.) Their son was born mid-January or so. Mrs. Pastor needed a C-section, but that was the only complication. The baby is healthy, the nursing is going great, and Mrs. Pastor has had absolutely no post-partum depression. The new parents are adjusting to their responsibilities beautifully. (And they chose a lovely and classic name for their son, too.)

Because of the C-section, Mrs. Pastor was advised against a lot of physical activities for a few weeks, including carrying the baby in his carrier. This limited her ability to attend church. But last week, she was able to attend for the first time. Pastor asked me to sit in back with her in case she needed any assistance, which I was glad to do.

Any excuse to see the baby!

Even though he was a big baby (hence the C-section), even at a bit over a month old, he's so tiny! I forgot how small newborns are.

This child is in good hands.

Baby shower

Some of you have been following the saga of our pastor's love life. (See these posts – one, two, and three – for the full story.) Mrs. Pastor is less than two weeks from having their first baby (a boy), and – as I like to joke – this is the most-anticipated baby in town.

Someone arranged a baby shower for Mrs. Pastor a couple weeks ago. In expectation of this event, I ordered what was, to me, the most useful reference book in the history of reference books for new parents. Appropriately named "The Baby Book," it was my bible as a new mother. It's never gone out of print, and has been revised and updated through the years. I was pleased to give a copy to Mrs. Pastor.

I wrapped it up for the baby shower.

The shower was held in the church basement and was well-attended.

Mrs. Pastor received many useful gifts, including some books.

As anticipated, she was given a lot of adorable baby clothes, including – comically – no fewer than about sixty onesies. Maybe more.

In addition to "The Baby Book," we also wanted to get Mrs. Pastor a ring sling. We had these for our girls and they were absolute life-savers. The company that made our original sling had gone out of business, so I did some research and recommended Mr. and Mrs. Pastor use a Maya Wrap. I gave Mrs. Pastor the website and urged her to choose the style and color she preferred, and this was her choice:

The sling hasn't arrived yet, but then neither has the baby. After he's born and Pastor and Mrs. Pastor get used to using the sling, we've urged them to order a second (our gift) because it's handy to have one to use and one to wash.

We may also get them a hand-crank baby-food grinder. We had this when our girls started eating solids. We – literally – never bought a single jar of commercial baby food, thanks to this little grinder.

The next step, of course, is the Big Event itself. Our poor pastor is as jumpy as any new father, with a suitcase packed and ready to go for when Mrs. Pastor goes into labor. Whee!

Gender reveal

Some of you have been following the saga of our pastor's love story. It all started a year and a half ago when he announced his engagement.

The wedding was a bit over a year ago.

In June – on Father's Day, no less – the pastor announced in somewhat stunned tones that Mrs. Pastor is expecting their first child. All the experienced members of the congregation chuckled at the dazed reaction of the soon-to-be-parents. We've all been there, right?

So today, we got additional news. Gender reveal: They're having a boy!

As the pastor put it, there was no mistaking it; the unborn baby was "loud and proud."

The newlyweds are adjusting to the notion of their impending responsibility. I, for one, think they'll be superb parents. They're both wonderful people with a tremendous amount of love to share.

Now, of course, they're tasked with deciding on a name......

Pastor: A love story (the sequel)

Back in March of 2022, I put up a post called "Pastor: A Love Story" which chronicled how our pastor met the woman who was to become his wife.

The wedding happened last September, and Mrs. Pastor has become a beloved member of the congregation. She's also a writer (unpublished) so we have a lot in common.

Last week – on Father's Day – the pastor concluded the service and then made the announcement everyone was hoping would eventually happen: He just learned he was going to be a father. The poor guy still looked a little shell-shocked at the news.

Yes, Mrs. Pastor is expecting, and we're all thrilled for them. During communion at today's service, the pastor touched his wife's abdomen and gave to his unborn child the blessing he normally gives to young children who aren't old enough to take communion. I nearly burst into tears, it was so sweet.

Both our pastor and his wife are nervous about their impending responsibilities – but hey, that's normal. (I always say there's a reason a baby takes nine months to develop; it takes that long to get used to the concept of being parents).

I've been researching ring slings (baby slings) as a gift to the soon-to-be parents. We wish our pastor and his bride every happiness as they embark on this new adventure.

Feed me!

Yesterday I noticed a new type of bird at the feeder with darling little tufts of facial feathers above its eyes.

For a moment I wondered if it was another species of LBJ (Little Brown Jobbie) until I noticed it engaging in classic fledgling behavior: ruffling up its feathers and opening its beak. "Feed me!"

Okay, it's a juvenile Cassin's finch at that awkward age where it's old enough to (sorta) fly but too young to forage for itself.

So  the parents did what all good parents do: they fed it.

A lot.

And so the cycle of life continues.

How to hate your husband

Want to read a just plain weird Mother's Day article? Try this:

You Will Hate Your Husband After Your Kid Is Born

This is some of the strangest drivel I've read in a long time. We are informed:

On this upcoming day of celebrating mothers, here’s a cautionary note, something many mothers-to-be don’t expect when they’re expecting: If you have a husband, you will hate him when your kid is born. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Don’t be fooled by the pictures on your social media feed of your friends serenely beaming with their infants. When they’re not letting you know they’re #SoBlessed, they’re probably fighting.

(First of all, note the phrase, "IF you have a husband." Now you know the direction this is coming from.)

"Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise," says the author. Um, sweetheart, I'm here to tell you otherwise. You're treating your husband like dirt, and it's your fault.

So new parents are stressed, overtired, and having trouble adjusting to the constant demands of a seven-pound helpless human being. Um, what else did you expect when a new baby came into your formerly kid-free lives? That you'd be able to treat it like a puppy, lock it in the pantry, and go out to dinner?

The article seems to center on the shocking reality that women are much more attuned to the needs of their baby than men are ("A baby’s cry was the No. 1 sound most likely to wake a woman, it didn’t even figure into the male top ten, lagging behind car alarms and strong wind"). Again, duh. The author acts like this is something scandalous and disgraceful.

Men aren't mothers. Men don't carry the baby in utero. Men don't breastfeed the baby. Men are protectors and defenders, not nurturers. (Please don't misunderstand, I know men care for their babies; what I'm saying is, their biology is geared for defense/protection, not the sensitive nuances of infant care.)

The author of this article seems to spend a lot of time explaining why her man is scum because he's not as responsive to the immediate needs of a newborn as she is (she terms it "colossal asymmetry"), and why she decides he's nothing more than a knuckle-dragging caveman:

I thought I had married an evolved guy—one who assured me, when I was pregnant, that we would divide up the work equally. Yet right after our baby was born, we backslid into hidebound midcentury gender roles as I energetically overmet my expectations.

Sheesh, sister, suck it up. What on earth did you expect? Biology doesn't conform to feminism. Women are mothers, not men.

My advice: Get some immediate counseling for postpartum depression before you send what sounds like a very decent man fleeing into the night. Then read this article.

Okay, rant over.

Proud grandpa

My WND editor, Ron, sent out an announcement a few minutes ago that he is now a proud grandpa (identifying info removed for privacy):

Friends: I'm please to announce the birth of our first grandchild, [a baby girl], who joined us at 10:04 p.m. Pacific time June 18.

For her first child, my older daughter was blessed with a whole 90 minutes of labor. Midwife arrived 10 minutes before baby. Everyone healthy and delighted!

Born at home in [name removed], Oregon. 7 lb. 15 oz., 21 inches

My daughter was 7 years old when I started working for WND. Time flies. See photo of my pink granddaughter just moments old.

"Lo, children are an heritage of the LORD: and the fruit of the womb is his reward." (Psalm 127:3)

Ron's daughter and son-in-law were married in August, 2012. Here are some beautiful photos of their wedding.

How babies are made in Canada

A friend sent this. I found it hilarious.

Here's the text accompanying the photos. (Please note, Patrice is a man's name in Europe, which led to some comical misunderstandings with a German employer I had in college. But I digress.)

Canadian photographer Patrice Laroche surely will have no trouble explaining to his kids about the birds and the bees.
During his wife Sandra Denis’ pregnancy, the artist created hilarious explanatory photo series titled "How to Make a Baby."
The creative couple planned and carried out their project throughout the whole period of nine months, taking pictures in the exact same settings as Sandra’s belly expanded. The pregnancy saga of Sandra and Patrice basically denounces all the traditional cabbage and the stork stories.

A baby that shouldn't be dead

A reader wrote me an email addressing the tragic issue of a newborn baby dying in New York City during the blizzard.  I thought our correspondence might be of interest to all.
__________________________

Dear Patrice,

I have been reading your blog for several years and it is good to hear your opinions on the state of the world! I want to write to you today about the situation in New York City. Never before has it been so glaringly obvious to me what is going to happen to the people in this country if they don't attempt a new mindset. Of course, it is more difficult to do that when you live in a big city and are used to every convenience. We live out in the country.

The most distressing story I read was about a young woman who lost a newborn baby in the lobby of an apartment building. This situation begs the following questions: 1) did she not know that there was a catastrophic storm on the way? 2) did she not know her EDC? 3) could she not plan for the possibility that she might have to have a baby the old-fashioned way (as women have done for hundreds of years)? I hope I do not sound cold or uncaring, but all the information I could find implied that the baby was not early. And of course, there is the issue of the unions protesting by not plowing the streets. But were there no other people around? Couldn't one woman have helped her? I used this as a lesson for my daughters. I had two babies at home and I had a choice about it. The most important thing is your attitude. Do you think having a baby at home a dreadful, horrible, life-threatening situation? Only if you make it that way. The moral of this story and the lesson to be learned is BE PREPARED!

Thanks for listening,
A reader
____________________________

My reply:

It's funny you should bring up this issue. Last evening I was talking to a neighbor, a young woman about to embark on a three-month missionary trip to the Philippines to further her education in midwifery (this is Maid Elizabeth, Enola Gay's oldest daughter if you follow her blog). We were talking about the very subject of the baby. It was Maid Elizabeth's understanding that the baby was born healthy - i.e. no medical issues - so why on earth did the baby die? I said that some mothers have no bonding instinct, a sort of total disconnect with their infant (I saw such a case once and it wasn't pretty). So if the new mother had no concept how to put the baby skin-to-skin under warm clothes/blankets and no concept of breastfeeding, then the baby probably died of just plain exposure. While I am furious at the NYC sanitation workers for not doing their job, this new mother also had a job - caring for her infant. And as you say, where was everyone else? Was there no other woman nearby who could have shown the new mother what to do?

I'm in the middle of reading "One Second After," which tells the aftermath of an EMP attack which brings down the power grid. The sad part is, the vast vast majority of urban dwellers - no matter how innocent - are entirely dependent on the grid and the infrastructure that grid provides. It's a terrifying scenario to realize how helpless and trapped so many people will be - many of my own immediate family included - should things go wrong.

Yet cities thrived in the 19th century. Perhaps not to the standards of cleanliness and sanitation we have today, but they still existed. But they existed because the support base was still relatively local AND people still had a moral foundation. Sadly, neither is in force today. (shaking head) I thank the good Lord we don't live in NYC.

Best regards
Patrice Lewis

Music music music

Older Daughter's music recital was last Saturday. Her elderly teacher, in addition to teaching piano, also teaches harp, so the harps dominate the scene. It really is extraordinary to be in the presence of fourteen harps at once, ranging from full-scale concert pedal harps down to little Irish lap harps.

Ages for the harpists ranged from young (13) to old (88).

There's just nothing prettier than a harp and its player.

One of the students played French horn...

...and this young lady belted out "Jolly Old St. Nicholas" in beautiful style.

Older Daughter played two pieces (We Three Kings and Prelude in C) and played them beautifully, without one single mistake.  She was relieved!

The relief was short-lived, however, since the next day (Sunday) both girls played in church, along with some other children.

Little Reeser at first was more interested in the camera than the music.

This fellow has only been playing trombone for two months, and I was astonished by how clear his tone was.  That's a difficult instrument!

This young lady made a mark with her clarinet.

Little Haileigh (age 4) gave a rendition of Away in the Manger, along with her Sunday school teacher.  The microphone was turned up too high so she nearly blasted us from our seats, which gave the congregation a good chuckle between putting our fingers in our ears.  She's not shy!

Younger Daughter played beautifully.  She won't admit it, but this performance was less nerve-wracking than the last (though when she reads this she'll deny it).

Older Daughter not only played a couple of pieces solo, but she also played the accompaniment to Younger Daughter's violin and the other girl's clarinet.

Younger Daughter lights the advent candles.

Our pastor reads the Gospel text upon which the sermon was based.

Altogether it was a beautiful service, though I think the girls are relieved it's over!