Food & the Feminine Genius

Weekly Notes

Friday Greetings! For those who are new here, welcome. For those who are not new, thank you for still being here. And for all of you, I hope you will bear with me as I do something a little different this week and share an essay, not a Reader Q&A.

I promise to not stop the Q&A’s. I love doing them. But some weeks—like this one—I want to mix things up a bit and share something else with you. This week, it’s a sneak peek into a new project on which I’m working. I’ll tell you more about that when I can. But for now, I hope you all enjoy this free (and short!) reflection on food and the feminine genius.

(And although this essay is free to read and free to share, I always appreciate it when someone decides to upgrade their subscription to paid purely out of the kindness of their heart and a desire to keep my mostly sane Catholic writing on the Internet. Thank you if that person is you, and thank to all the paying customers, whose support keeps these newsletters coming, even when editors have other things they would like me doing with my time!)

My son Toby’s first word—the first word he repeated over and over again, with meaning and purpose and even on command—was “Mama.” He whispered it as he woke up in the morning and as he fell asleep at night. He shouted it when I walked into a room or when he pinched his fingers in the cabinet door. He even sang it to himself as he played in one corner while I worked in another. Everywhere he went, it was “Mama, Mama, Mama.”

Then, one day, my husband and I realized something. When Toby was saying “Mama,” he wasn’t always talking about me. He wasn’t just calling or singing or dreaming of the woman who held him and fed him and rocked him to sleep. Sometimes, he was calling or singing or dreaming about something else, for “Mama” was also his word for “food.”

Toby said “Mama,” when what he meant was, “I am hungry. Give me something to eat.” He also said “Mama,” when he was pleased with what he’d been given, when what he wanted to say was, “I am happy. I am satisfied. This is good.”

“Mama” was both Toby’s “please” and Toby’s “thank you,” his “I am empty” and his “I am full.” He knew whenever he said “Mama,” what he needed would come, whether that need was for comfort, healing, affection, strength, milk, or just a quick smile to reassure him all was well.

Which, of course, is just as it should be. Only, I didn’t know if it would be that way for me.

Toby, like all our babies, was adopted. But he was the first—the one who made me “Mama.” And I didn’t know, both before we brought him home and for some time afterwards, what the bond between us would look like. I knew I would love him before I met him. I knew I would die for him the moment I heard his first cries. But I didn’t know if he would feel the same way about me. Would he see me as his own? Would I be to him what other mothers are to the babies born from their bodies and not just their hearts?

I spent so many hours, days, and weeks asking myself those questions, worrying the answer would be no. Even after he came home with us, I worried. Chris said I had no reason for that. Toby held fast to me from the first. I was the one he wanted. I was the one to whom he clung. I was the one whose face he always sought out, wanting to press it against his own. During much of Toby’s first year of life, we spent hours like that, walking cheek to cheek about the house. Even today, that’s how he likes to cuddle with me, his cheek pressed firmly against my own, while his now gangly legs dangle close to the floor.

During those early months, however, I worried just the same. It wasn’t my blood that fed him in utero. It wasn’t my milk that helped him grow and thrive after birth. It was my arms that held him and my voice that calmed him, but I was so very worried that wouldn’t be enough. I was so very worried I wouldn’t be enough.

Then he gave food my name. And I stopped worrying.

That was almost six years ago now, and Toby’s use of language has advanced well beyond calling food and everything to do with it “Mama.” But I still treasure that memory, both for what it showed me about our bond and for what it underlined for me about motherhood.

Whether a woman has ten children or none at all, there is something about food and the feminine that is inextricably linked. Not simply because women generally (but certainly not always) do more cooking than men in the home, but more because women can do something men can’t. We can become food. It’s a woman’s blood that nourishes the child in her womb. It’s her milk that nourishes her child at her breast. Our life is poured into them. Our strength is given to them. And in that, we image Christ like no man can.

That likeness is a tremendous gift. Even if some of us never get the chance to do it, even if no babies’ hearts ever rest under our own, the latent ability is still there. In potential, if not in fact, we are like Him. We too are made to be a type of Eucharist.

I think about this likeness the most when I am in my kitchen, where I typically cook three meals a day for my children. I enjoy cooking, but even I struggle at times with how much time, energy, and patience it takes to feed these growing babes, whose tastes are more unpredictable than a teenager’s moods. I also struggle with the mess this cooking makes. I look forward to the day when I can hand off the post-dinner cleanup to Toby, Becket, and Ellie. But we’re not there yet, and the constant cycle of cleaning and cooking remains exhausting.

 I keep cooking, though. Partly because someone must; the children must be fed, and the kitchen is not my husband’s comfort zone. But also because in this constant act of cooking and serving, washing and wiping, I get to be like Christ.

Every day, in every Mass, the sacrifice Christ made on Calvary is made present to us. He is there, on the altar, offering to us the same Body that hung on the cross once for all, feeding us with His Body, Blood, Soul and Divinity, re-forming our hearts in the image of His.

And every day, I stand in my kitchen, pouring myself out in a different way. Cooking is my perpetual sacrifice. My body is not food for my children. It never has been. But every morning, noon, and night, I still get to use my body to feed them. My mind, my heart, my strength, my energy, my creativity, and my tenacity—all of that, all of me, goes into every dish I make. And when my children take and eat that food, I believe some of what I poured into the meal passes through it to them. That is to say, I believe that when they eat what I’ve made, my mind, my heart, my strength, my energy, my creativity, and my tenacity, in some mysterious way, becomes theirs, too. It becomes a part of who they are and a part of who they will become.

In the kitchen, I have found intimacy with Christ, who gives His life to us in the form of food. I’ve also found intimacy with generations of women who came before me, a great feminine company who have nourished souls as they nourished bodies, pouring themselves out so the ones they loved could grow and thrive. It is a great privilege to be among their number. It is, in some ways, one of the great blessings of my life. Years ago, cooking for friends and roommates gave me a way to live my vocation to motherhood long before I became a mother. Now, it gives me a way to live the feminine call to nourish life, even though my own body was never capable of bearing life.

There are many ways to live motherhood. Plenty of good mothers exist who are no happier in the kitchen than my husband is. Nevertheless, what a sacred space for women the kitchen can be. It is holy ground, where love can become food and motherhood can become nourishment and every woman can become a mother. Toby knew what he was about when he settled on one word, “Mama,” to express hunger and satisfaction, love and nourishment, strength and healing, joy and thanksgiving. Only one other word in all the word can do the same. And “Eucharist” would have been a bit much for a six-month-old to speak.

Five Fast Things:

1. Did you catch the latest episode of our podcast last week? It was a follow-up to a question from a subscriber that I answered here. Our husbands were so brave (or insane) for agreeing to continue the conversation on “Bodies, Breast Implants, and the Duties of Marriage.”

2.  I loved

   Claire Swinarski
   ‘s recent plea to “Abolish Homework!” One of the reasons we chose a Montessori education for our kids is because of its no homework policy. To everything Claire writes, I say “Amen.”

3. If you are in or near Pittsburgh, I would love to see you on November 9, when I give the first major talk I’ve given since Becket was born at the annual St. Joan of Arc Ministries Diocesan Women’s Conference. You can learn more about the conference and register here. Now that the kids are getting a bit older, Chris and I have decided I can ease back into speaking on the occasional weekend (although during the school year, we want to keep events within within driving distance—say 4-6 hours). So if you’re planning an event and interested in having me come and speak, feel free to email me at emchapman415@gmail.com. (Just know you might have to put your subject line in all caps or harass me with weekly emails to get a response because despite my best efforts I am drowning in emails and am working my way through the most urgent ones).

4. Speaking of conferences, I recently filmed an interview with the lovely Emily Jaminet for the upcoming Called to Communicate Conference, which will take place online from September 30 through October 5. Like Flannery O’Connor, I normally try to talk people out of pursuing a career in writing. It’s a relentless, stressful, and frequently spiritually dangerous way to make a living. It also pays worse with each passing year. But if you will not be talked out of such aspirations, you can access the conference for free while it’s happening, and purchase an all access pass for just $37 with the code “Chapman.” That will allow you to watch all 20 talks and interviews, anytime you want over a six month period.

5. Gracie Jagla has a delightful new book about Mama Mary that just came out: When Mary Says Yes. I was so excited to share it with my kids and it didn’t disappoint. Definitely put this one on your list for littles.

In Case You Missed It

“About ‘the Catholic Right’s Celebrity Convert Industrial Complex’” (Full Subscriber Only)

“Stupid Is As Stupid Does: On Politics, Prudence, and Priorities” (Full Subscriber Only)

“Freemasonry, Hurtful Siblings, and Prayers About Hell” (Free for All)

Can I ask you a favor? If you’re enjoying this newsletter and reading it regularly, would you mind sharing it with others who you think might enjoy it? Even if it’s not in your budget to become a full subscriber to this newsletter, your help spreading the word about what I’m doing here is a huge help to my work. Thank you!