Fat Baby

On April 4, 2019, a baby was born prematurely at 27 weeks gestation, weighing in at a whopping 1.07 kilograms. She started out with a CPAP breathing machine, an umbilical cord vein for IV fluids and medications, and all kinds of electrodes for monitoring her heart rate, respiratory rate, and oxygenation status. All the lines and tubes took up more space than her actual little body. The medical providers prayed that she would live, for they knew that any day could take a turn for the better or worse. The parents of the baby had practically decided that she would not live, and so they started to detach and keep a distance to protect their own hearts. 

But as the weeks carried on and she proved to all of us what a trooper she was, we were gradually able to remove the lines and tubes and wean her from most of her treatments. With a few extra ounces of weight, she also started to look more like a tiny human than an undercooked neonate. The parents realized what a fighter she was and that she had a will to live, and so they started to hope. And with hope came the gift of starting to love and connect to their baby girl. 

Skin to skin kangaroo care was ordered by the doctors four times a day, but that mother blew their expectations out of the water; she had that baby to her chest every chance she got, especially with each of the eight feeds she received every day. The mother tenderly changed her baby’s sheets and wiped her bottom, carefully kept everything neat and tidy in the incubator, and never left her baby’s side. One time after a feed, I playfully poked the baby’s ballooned belly and commented about how full she was and how good she ate. 

The mom smiled and said back, “La grosse,” which means “Fat girl.”

The name stuck. Weighing just over 2.2 pounds at this point, it seemed like a perfect little affectionate nickname. From then on out, the mother and I called her La Grosse and laughed. Every time. 

One day the father came for a visit and I asked him if he had chosen a name for the baby. Names here always have great significance and usually mean something related to the time around which the baby was born. The name almost documents a small part of the family’s history. A name is often not given until the 8th day, or in this case, when the family believes that the baby will survive. 

“No,” he shook his head. 

“Not yet,” I added with a smile and a nod as to not make him feel pressure or shame about not yet having chosen a name. 

“Would you like to choose a name for her?” He asked, and I thought for a second, honestly just giving him the answer I knew he expected. “I will reflect on it and think of a good name!” I didn’t really think he was serious. 

Until a few days later when he followed up with me and asked again, “Have you chosen a name?” Then I knew he was serious, so I got serious, too.

I learned what tribe he belonged to and then found a Christian who belongs to that same tribe. I asked him for some examples of good, strong names in that tribe, and we came up with a list of four. My favorite was the last one - Yendouboime. It means God loves. 

The next time I saw the father, I proudly presented the list of four names and unbiasedly let him choose which one he liked best, since I found it important that he still have some ownership over the selection of his daughter’s name. Without hesitation, he pointed to the last name and I smiled and said, “Yendouboime. That’s my favorite one, too.”

We talked just a few minutes about what it means that God loves. That God loves this baby. That he loves their family. That he loved the whole world enough to send Jesus. 

The father talked over and over again about how impressed he was with the hospital and what a difference it had made in their lives by saving the life of their baby. This was why he allowed me to have a hand in choosing the baby’s name. I reminded him that we at the hospital are nothing but servants, and that God is the one who saves. He wholeheartedly agreed, not uncommon for a Muslim who believes in an unchangeable fate and the sovereign will of God. 

But then I added, “You know, everything done at this hospital is done in the name of Jesus. This hospital is here because of Jesus and for Jesus.” This now breached a spiritual arena a little less comfortable for Muslims. They love to talk about God, but talking about Jesus can get a little tricky, because that’s where the differences start between Muslim and Christian faiths. But he continued to listen graciously as I kept talking. “God has given this hospital to your people so that you can know that Jesus is truth and the son of God and savior of the world, and that he loves your people and has never forgotten or abandoned you.” 

With head humbly bowed, he responded, “Sincerement,” a phrase which, when used in his tone of voice, indicated that he had heard, understood, and recognized truth in what was said. We left it at that. 

The mother walked up with a bucket of food and clean clothes on her head, the supplies she would need for the next few days of her hospital stay. “La grosse has a real name!” I announced. She set her bucket down and looked expectantly at her husband, who replied, “Yendouboime.” A huge white smile spread across her face and refused to leave. It was in her language; she knew exactly what it meant.

“I’m still going to call her La grosse,” I joked and they laughed. She’s a month old now, and looking more and more like the cutest baby you’ve ever seen. A baby dearly loved by the Lord Almighty who knitted her together in her mother’s womb and who already has written down the number of all her days. 

There’s a verse in Romans (4:17) that says God “calls things that are not as though they were.” I thought about that when I basically called the tiniest human I’ve ever seen “little fat girl.” Calling her fat girl even though she was the farthest thing from it was a way of communicating faith and hope - faith that she will grow and put on more weight, and hope that what we speak over her will one day soon be true. 

God does something smiliar. He called Israel a virgin when she was but a whore (Jeremiah 31.2-4). He calls us righteous when we are anything but. He makes his church a spotless bride when we are only a family of really broken sinners. We are forgiven and justified and adopted into his family when we never deserved it. We are recipients of great and amazing grace. He called us his own and it became true. 

I hand-printed and foot-printed Yendouboime the other day, marveling at how her entire foot is the size of my thumb print. God knows the creases in her tiny footprint, just like he knows the creases and folds of our hearts. In a way, all are called by this name, Yendouboime, for this name documents who we are and what God has been doing since the moment of our birth and since the foundation of the world. He has been loving us with an everlasting love.