The Bread of Life

I strongly believe that new mothers need all the help and support they can get - whether it's their first baby or fifth. Having gone through severe postpartum depression, and also some wonderful new mother experiences, I know how much a meal, a call of concern, and even a pile of laundry done and folded can help. I try to do what I can for the new moms around me, because it's usually easy to do, but I remember the impact.

Lately we've been making a few extra meals to dole out and it's interesting to me how much my children are impacted by this. Little E keeps asking "WHY" we have to be so kind, and not quite understanding why someone who has a new baby would need a meal. I explained the utter exhaustion, the mix-up between night and day and he still doesn't quite get the whole newborn tiredness. Someday he will. Miss J has delighted in making cookies to give. But yesterday was the first time Mr. T got involved.

The receiver wasn't a new mother this time, but an older woman who had undergone some rather evasive tests and not so friendly health issues. When I mentioned this to him, it seemed to hit home for him and he right away understood that we needed to bring her dinner. He helped with most of the preparation for the soup we were making, but his real participation was in the bread. He made french bread all by himself. When it got down to rolling out the two loaves, I showed him how with one, and he did the other all by himself. Next he painted them carefully with egg yolk, sprinkled sesame seeds on and baked them. He was so proud of his loaf, and wanted to be sure that we kept the one I rolled out, but gave the one he made all by himself. It turned out beautifully and smelled divine.

When it was time to deliver, I left the other three kids in the car so as not to overwhelm, but Mr. T walked up holding his loaf with the biggest smile I've ever seen. He told them he had made the bread, and was congratulated for his help, so I inserted that he really had done it all by himself for his first time. French bread is apparently a favourite in their home, and he was thanked profusely. He also got to witness pain, and recognize the gift and relief he was giving. Their last name was written on a wooden plaque outside their home, and Mr. T repeated it on the way home, so excited that he had made bread for them. He could not stop smiling and could not get over how good he felt. Even Little E noticed, and asked "Do you REALLY feel good inside?" Mr. T delivered an optimistic response and Little E then turned to me asking, "Can I help make the bread next time?"

Of course. That's what life is all about.