I hate washing kale. I like eating kale, cooking kale, and even picking kale. But I hate washing it.
When I’m rested and happy, I manage to push past my distaste for the task. I even find the energy to de-stem it, carefully cut it into bite sized pieces and make salad dressing.
When I’m tired and cranky, the kale slowly yellows in the fridge until I guiltily throw it into the compost. As I toss it, I think about the hungry people in this world, the money I just wasted, as well as the resources it took to grow and ship the kale to Elmvale.
Here’s the thing about being a new parent; you’re always tired. Always. Why? Because :
- Labour itself is a sleepless two-day marathon.
- Babies don’t come with an instruction manual, so they cry — a lot.
- They need to be fed every two to three hours, day and night.
- Newborns are preceded by months of sleep deprivation (imagine snoozing with a bowling ball on your bladder).
I love my little dude – so, so, so deeply. With a love intense enough to frighten me sometimes. But all that wakefulness is starting to take its toll on my body.
So the short version of the story is : I haven’t been washing much kale lately.
Luckily my enormous, beautiful, supportive network of friends and family has once again jumped in to save me from a BBQ-chip-based diet. They’ve cooked, cleaned, driven, dog-walked, babysat, grocery-shopped, and gardened for us. Many travelled long distances — through cottage country traffic — to visit.
As I watched my little sister scrub kale in my kitchen sink the other day, I thought about the wealth of love underpinning my whole life. Kale may be an odd topic for an initial postpartum post, but I can’t think of a better way to describe how special our baby’s “village” is
I want each benefactor (a.k.a. kale washer) to know: it mattered. Every kind action was noticed and appreciated. Thank you. xo
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