Food = Love

At one point soon after we were married, Tom made the observation that my family equates food with affection. "Doesn't everyone?" I asked in surprise. When I was growing up, family dinner time was sacred. Birthdays gave us the right to dictate a dinner menu and choose a cake. We weren't particularly religious, but the sticky buns on Christmas morning meant as much to me as any sacrament.


Maybe that's why I have been so touched by all the food we've been given thanks to Meg's birth. One of the mom's groups I'm in holds "food showers" for expectant mothers, and two of my friends organized mine as a lovely afternoon tea, complete with finger sandwiches and decadent desserts. They even mixed their own loose tea to serve. After Meg was born and we started making our way through all the frozen dishes, I felt cared-for and happy not to have to worry about cooking.


The other mom's group I'm in coordinates meals that are dropped off after a baby is born. When people started delivering the meals, I realized the strength of this approach: It gives people a chance to check in and make sure new moms are okay.


Then two weeks ago someone from the Unitarian church we've been attending called to tell us they wanted to coordinate some meal deliveries for us. When Tom and I were both feeling sick, it felt like a minor miracle to have someone show up with soup and rolls and chocolates. Meg and I returned home from the hospital to find that a friend had dropped off a salad and homemade macaroni and cheese.


Sometimes when I'm home for a visit and my mom and I are in the grocery store, she'll bring up Tom's comment: "I know he says we show love through food, but that's not a bad thing, right? At least we're showing love, right?"


I always reassure her. Sure, people can have problems with mixing up food and love, and I don't mean to minimize that. But my nursing newborn reminds me many times a day how closely linked the two really are.