“Am I a good parent?” Wouldn’t it be great to quiet the voice in your…
Food is my love language.
It’s how I brought back the joy and wonder of the holidays during December 2020, when I made the very hard decision to keep my little ones home and skip the bigger family gatherings.
I made Christmas cookies with my oldest. I planned an elaborate Christmas dinner and made homemade pizza on Christmas Eve. I filled the void left by the Christmas morning brunch I typically host into French toast and hot chocolate treats.
And it’s how I found comfort and support when I was newly postpartum.
Chained to a comfy spot on the couch that quickly began to mold to my worn-in sweats and a sore…you know…undercarriage, in a constant two-hour cycle of changing, feeding, napping.
I did those three simple tasks all day long. Change. Feed. Nap. Repeat. And still somehow, by dinnertime I would realize I hadn’t eaten all day. The idea of cooking seems monumental. So we cross our fingers and hope there’s something in the freezer…
If you asked me how long my first daughter slept, how many naps she took, how many times she pooped in a day, how long I had bloody nipples or how many calls I made to friends asking about pump schedules and milk storage, I couldn’t tell you.
What I remember most of all are the people who nourished me.
My best friend who traveled from another state with chicken salad and wraps packed alongside frozen chicken tikka masala and a bag of microwaveable rice.
My sweet co-worker who stopped by for 15 minutes to bring fast food chicken sandwiches.
Two friends who spent an entire morning at my house just weeks before she was born prepping freezer meals.
I can recall doubling recipes months before my second daughter was born, making my own feet swell as I prepped and labeled two kinds of muffins, a pasta bake, chicken enchiladas, black bean soup, and vegetable soup for the freezer, knowing that I was gifting my future self, the new me I was about to meet, a mom of two, a precious gift.
I recall every sweet way someone I loved thought to nourish this new addition to my life. And me as well. How every one of my friends that had become a mother before me knew in that “mom” way exactly what I would need. How they understood the capacity I would have.
When my sister was due with her son a few months after Christmas, I settled into what I do best: showing my love through food.
I stuffed a tray of sweet potato enchiladas into a bag, added a second tray filled with cheesy pasta next, and topped it off with bags of homemade muffins, containers of soup, and an apple cake. If cooking is my love language, then I had reusable grocery totes brimming with love.
Because a meal is more than just food. It’s an understanding that having a new baby is hard and scary. There is no way to prepare for it, so the first six weeks end up being the time new moms spend every waking and sleeping moment figuring it out.
Bringing food is a way to take care of the last thing a new mom will think about: herself.
Ready to send someone some recipes to bring to you and your new baby?
Ready to start cooking for a friend who had a new baby?
Know someone who knows someone who just had a baby?
We’ve got you covered. Check out our recipes here. These meals are simple, nourishing, and supportive of postpartum recovery and replenishment.