The effortless breastfeeding journey is rare. According to a study by Pediatrics, only 8 percent of women nurse easily within the first days of motherhood. Yet no one at the hospital mentioned the commonness of my experience. Similarly, my parents—despite their good intentions—didn’t explain why confinement was beneficial or necessary. “Sitting the month” is an opportunity to convalesce after the trauma of birth, to be doted upon and protected. You aren’t supposed to feel trapped.
On the flip side, new mothers in America are often characterized as tireless superwomen who “do it all.” While I understood this to be a fantasy too, I still wanted to be capable and independent. Already hemmed in by the rules of postsurgical recovery, I didn’t want any more limits. I yearned to make decisions for myself, to discover my own maternal instincts.
The School for Good Mothers
Chan’s debut novel, The School for Good Mothers, is out now.
Though I’d brought my daughter home, her weight was still being monitored, along with my milk supply. So I rotated through a flurry of homeopathic tricks. I drank mother’s milk tea until I reeked of fenugreek. I increased my calorie intake until I was consuming enough food for a family of five. When none of that worked, I did what anyone does in times of stress—I turned to the internet. I needed to find a different kind of stillness, on my own terms.
Deep in mommy-blog-land, I discovered lactation cookies: chocolaty oatmeal biscuits made with magical milk-stimulating brewer’s yeast. I’m prediabetic, so sweets of any kind are rare delights. Luckily enough, my sister found a recipe that used low-sugar ingredients like figs and agave, plus sprouted quinoa, flaxseed meal, and coconut oil. She baked a couple of batches, shipped them over, and soon I had a stash to last for weeks.
Each morning I hopped off the hamster wheel of newborn care long enough to eat a cookie. After changing diapers, nursing, and pumping in the afternoons, I ate another. The palm-size treats tasted nutty, rich, decadent. With this gentle ritual, I could savor a moment alone, just for myself, relishing the hope and pleasure it provided.
Whether it was the cookies, pumping, or time, during my baby’s first month home, my milk increased. My daughter’s latch improved. She became plump. I stopped feeling guilty about supplementing with formula. My strength returned. I started taking walks. Eventually, the pain in my body subsided and I held my daughter easily. Perhaps the solution had been there all along, in the maternity ward or at the top of the stairs in my narrow hallway. Instead of doubling down when I felt pressure, I could stop pushing and let go. Accept rest as the gift that it was. Be gentle, by doing something as simple as eating cookies.
I nursed my daughter for the last time on the evening of her first birthday. I dimmed the lights in her room and cradled her, feeling triumphant but knowing I’d miss this singular closeness. How strange and difficult and wondrous it had been to feed her from my body, to have her need me, to provide. Her breathing slowed. Her hands relaxed. As her velvety cheek pressed against me, she closed her eyes and drank.
Get the Recipe:
These nutty, chocolaty treats are perfect for anyone who’s lactating—and just as delicious for everyone else.
The effortless breastfeeding journey is rare. According to a study by Pediatrics, only 8 percent of women nurse easily within the first days of motherhood. Yet no one at the hospital mentioned the commonness of my experience. Similarly, my parents—despite their good intentions—didn’t explain why confinement was beneficial or necessary. “Sitting the month” is an opportunity to convalesce after the trauma of birth, to be doted upon and protected. You aren’t supposed to feel trapped.On the flip side, new mothers in America are often characterized as tireless superwomen who “do it all.” While I understood this to be a fantasy too, I still wanted to be capable and independent. Already hemmed in by the rules of postsurgical recovery, I didn’t want any more limits. I yearned to make decisions for myself, to discover my own maternal instincts.The School for Good MothersChan’s debut novel, The School for Good Mothers, is out now.Though I’d brought my daughter home, her weight was still being monitored, along with my milk supply. So I rotated through a flurry of homeopathic tricks. I drank mother’s milk tea until I reeked of fenugreek. I increased my calorie intake until I was consuming enough food for a family of five. When none of that worked, I did what anyone does in times of stress—I turned to the internet. I needed to find a different kind of stillness, on my own terms.Deep in mommy-blog-land, I discovered lactation cookies: chocolaty oatmeal biscuits made with magical milk-stimulating brewer’s yeast. I’m prediabetic, so sweets of any kind are rare delights. Luckily enough, my sister found a recipe that used low-sugar ingredients like figs and agave, plus sprouted quinoa, flaxseed meal, and coconut oil. She baked a couple of batches, shipped them over, and soon I had a stash to last for weeks. Each morning I hopped off the hamster wheel of newborn care long enough to eat a cookie. After changing diapers, nursing, and pumping in the afternoons, I ate another. The palm-size treats tasted nutty, rich, decadent. With this gentle ritual, I could savor a moment alone, just for myself, relishing the hope and pleasure it provided.Whether it was the cookies, pumping, or time, during my baby’s first month home, my milk increased. My daughter’s latch improved. She became plump. I stopped feeling guilty about supplementing with formula. My strength returned. I started taking walks. Eventually, the pain in my body subsided and I held my daughter easily. Perhaps the solution had been there all along, in the maternity ward or at the top of the stairs in my narrow hallway. Instead of doubling down when I felt pressure, I could stop pushing and let go. Accept rest as the gift that it was. Be gentle, by doing something as simple as eating cookies.I nursed my daughter for the last time on the evening of her first birthday. I dimmed the lights in her room and cradled her, feeling triumphant but knowing I’d miss this singular closeness. How strange and difficult and wondrous it had been to feed her from my body, to have her need me, to provide. Her breathing slowed. Her hands relaxed. As her velvety cheek pressed against me, she closed her eyes and drank.Get the Recipe:These nutty, chocolaty treats are perfect for anyone who’s lactating—and just as delicious for everyone else.View Recipe