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Authors: Amy Hatvany
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warmed my belly. Every cell in my body seemed to exhale.
“Well, if
everyone else
is having one,” Susanne said with a smile. Brittany poured her a glass, too.
“Thank you so much for the food you brought, Cadence,” Hannah said. “I can’t believe you made all of that for us. My husband will be thrilled.”
I smiled at her over my wineglass as I took another sip. “It wasmy pleasure.” While I wasn’t into scrapbooking or knitting, I did love to cook, so every new mother in the group—whether it was their first child or their fourth—received a few days’ worth of my freezer-friendly lasagnas or vats of hearty beef stew. Hannah was no exception.
“Wow,” Renee had said when I showed up unexpectedly at her house with an ice chest full of foil-wrapped meals. Her body was ripe, about to give birth to her second baby any day. “What made you decide to do this?”
“Empathy, I guess,” I said, smiling shyly as I stood on her front porch. “There were so many times during Charlie’s first month that the idea of needing to get dinner on the table nearly brought me to tears. I was sleeping maybe three hours total a night. I could barely find time to shower, let alone defrost a roast.” I shrugged. “I figured a few ready-made meals might help alleviate that for you a bit.”
She laughed. “Let’s hope so. Thank you so much. It means a lot.”
The other women were appreciative of the gesture, as well. After a couple of months of doing it on my own, another member suggested that the idea become a regular practice. From then on, when one of the group’s members became pregnant or adopted, it wasn’t uncommon for her to have at least a month’s worth of meals in her freezer before the baby was due.
“Cadence’s food is amazing,” Brittany said. “She always brought the best appetizers to my parties. When I could get her to show up.”
I took another swallow of wine, almost emptying the glass, choosing to ignore her cloaked jab. “Oh, I see,” I said, feeling pleasantly engaged. “You just want me for my hot artichoke dip.”
“Well, yes,” Brittany said as she lifted the bottle and tilted it to top off my drink. “And for the money you’ll spend to up my commission.”
All the women laughed then, including me.
“Where is Leah going to preschool?” Susanne asked Hannah.
Hannah looked surprised. “She’s only two. Doesn’t preschool start when she’s three?”
“Oh, no,” Brittany said. “You need to get her registered now. Isn’t that right, Cadence?”
I nodded. “The waiting list at the Sunshine House is at least six months long. If you want her to get in, you should get her name on it.” I recognized the look of panic on Hannah’s face, remembering how intimidated I was when I first joined the group. The other women appeared so confident in their mothering skills; I felt like a freshman in a room full of MBAs. It had taken me almost two months just to decipher which of Charlie’s cries meant he was hungry and which meant he needed to sleep. Suddenly, the stakes around my choices took on a whole new weight. Breast milk or formula? Organic or processed? Cloth or disposable diapers? Home school or public? The list of potential mistakes seemed endless. It overwhelmed me.
“Don’t worry,” I said to Hannah now. “You’ll figure it all out.” I wasn’t sure if I was reassuring her or myself.
A sudden cry erupted from the other room—I knew immediately from the pitch it was my son. I set my glass on the counter with a light clatter and rushed to his side. He was standing with his arms straight at his sides, his fingers balled into fists. “She took my block!” he hollered.
Leah stood only a few steps away, a yellow block clasped to her chest. She whipped around to hide it from view. I crouched down to Charlie’s level. “Charlie, you were playing with Leah just fine a minute ago. And there are plenty of blocks for everyone to share. Why don’t you ask her to
“Well, if
everyone else
is having one,” Susanne said with a smile. Brittany poured her a glass, too.
“Thank you so much for the food you brought, Cadence,” Hannah said. “I can’t believe you made all of that for us. My husband will be thrilled.”
I smiled at her over my wineglass as I took another sip. “It wasmy pleasure.” While I wasn’t into scrapbooking or knitting, I did love to cook, so every new mother in the group—whether it was their first child or their fourth—received a few days’ worth of my freezer-friendly lasagnas or vats of hearty beef stew. Hannah was no exception.
“Wow,” Renee had said when I showed up unexpectedly at her house with an ice chest full of foil-wrapped meals. Her body was ripe, about to give birth to her second baby any day. “What made you decide to do this?”
“Empathy, I guess,” I said, smiling shyly as I stood on her front porch. “There were so many times during Charlie’s first month that the idea of needing to get dinner on the table nearly brought me to tears. I was sleeping maybe three hours total a night. I could barely find time to shower, let alone defrost a roast.” I shrugged. “I figured a few ready-made meals might help alleviate that for you a bit.”
She laughed. “Let’s hope so. Thank you so much. It means a lot.”
The other women were appreciative of the gesture, as well. After a couple of months of doing it on my own, another member suggested that the idea become a regular practice. From then on, when one of the group’s members became pregnant or adopted, it wasn’t uncommon for her to have at least a month’s worth of meals in her freezer before the baby was due.
“Cadence’s food is amazing,” Brittany said. “She always brought the best appetizers to my parties. When I could get her to show up.”
I took another swallow of wine, almost emptying the glass, choosing to ignore her cloaked jab. “Oh, I see,” I said, feeling pleasantly engaged. “You just want me for my hot artichoke dip.”
“Well, yes,” Brittany said as she lifted the bottle and tilted it to top off my drink. “And for the money you’ll spend to up my commission.”
All the women laughed then, including me.
“Where is Leah going to preschool?” Susanne asked Hannah.
Hannah looked surprised. “She’s only two. Doesn’t preschool start when she’s three?”
“Oh, no,” Brittany said. “You need to get her registered now. Isn’t that right, Cadence?”
I nodded. “The waiting list at the Sunshine House is at least six months long. If you want her to get in, you should get her name on it.” I recognized the look of panic on Hannah’s face, remembering how intimidated I was when I first joined the group. The other women appeared so confident in their mothering skills; I felt like a freshman in a room full of MBAs. It had taken me almost two months just to decipher which of Charlie’s cries meant he was hungry and which meant he needed to sleep. Suddenly, the stakes around my choices took on a whole new weight. Breast milk or formula? Organic or processed? Cloth or disposable diapers? Home school or public? The list of potential mistakes seemed endless. It overwhelmed me.
“Don’t worry,” I said to Hannah now. “You’ll figure it all out.” I wasn’t sure if I was reassuring her or myself.
A sudden cry erupted from the other room—I knew immediately from the pitch it was my son. I set my glass on the counter with a light clatter and rushed to his side. He was standing with his arms straight at his sides, his fingers balled into fists. “She took my block!” he hollered.
Leah stood only a few steps away, a yellow block clasped to her chest. She whipped around to hide it from view. I crouched down to Charlie’s level. “Charlie, you were playing with Leah just fine a minute ago. And there are plenty of blocks for everyone to share. Why don’t you ask her to
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