STONE SOUP
by Ann Mcgovern and Winslow Pinney Pels
A classic tale about the importance of sharing and the value of storytelling.
MOTHERHOOD
by Stone Soup
With a creamy pie in the oven and crunchy green cabbage in my bra I sweep up the kitchen.
Upstairs, an insulted sorcerous summersaults in her crib. Restless.
…
Even with a whole floor between us I can feel your dissatisfaction raining down. You want milk. My milk. And you want it now.
“No, baby” I whisper as I sweep buttery pumpkin guts into our dry, cracked wood floor. “You aren’t even hungry. I know it’s hard but—”
You howl, protesting in sustained gasps. Your shrieks shatter the space between my eyes.
“It’ll be okay,” I manage.
BAM.
Your chemical cries dart knives at my nipples. My breasts distend. Now, I’m clutching my broom, howling at the kitchen walls on my hands and knees weaning. Pleading! Ripping the wilted cabbage out of my shirt.
Stop! Please!
You bellow, roasting me in an oven of my own juices. I’m screaming to get out.
I think,
the 40th time I quit smoking. That was the last I felt a furor this feverish. An all consuming rage inducing sweaty black out of wanting.
So horny I can’t swallow. So desperate to halt a delirious tickle. From ecstasy to fever in a flick. Bile wildfire choking smoke with an unattainable fresh wet fog on the horizon.
The sensation is massive. The thirst cracks my throat. Sweating over a broken air conditioner doesn’t compare to this ache.
This nature need is so strong it creates pores in my skin.
“I can’t.”
You yowel, bright, forcing me to squeeze my nipples into my left sock.
“Take pity on me!”
But you don’t.
I’m a messy trash pile. A domestic freak show. I’m making laundry for myself when I could just —
Shit. Hand expressing isn’t cutting it. I’m raging. Mounting. Writhing. I scan my home for any solution. The Spectra S1 buried in the garage cackles in haunting whispers about dirty flanges and incorrect gages and missing backflow protectors and bacterial infested tubbing and “go fuck yourself” is all I can retort.
“Babe?”
Great. Our collective shouting has summoned the man we love. I can smell he is trying to reason if I need an ambulance or a journal.
“Honey?”
“Don’t look at me.”
“Honey, just go feed the baby.”
This isn’t a debate I am equipped to have right now and I know it. My will power is losing to mother nature.
“JUST GO FEED THE BABY?! WHY DIDN’T I THINK OF THAT?!” I spit.
He rolls his eyes. This sends me spiraling.
He’s right. This doesn’t need to be so horrible. I can make this all better. I can end the pain—
“UGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”
Broom in hand I BLASTOFF up three stairs at a time. My toddler’s eyes fall out of her head.
Suddenly, I’m in the nursery. Did I go through the ceiling? Who knows!
Now, I’m rocking in our chair in a river of stunning sweet relief. A long heavenly beat.
*Exhales. *Sighs. *Moans.
“Coo”
You drink gallons and gallons and we’re both indulging in a milky bliss. A satisfied, euphoric rebirth. We fit together in perfection.
YES!
NO!
We are weaning, baby! This isn’t weaning. This is nursing. What time is it? 4:03pm?! I lasted all day and caved at the witching hour?
A cold wind blows from the hole my broom made in the floor.
I’m disgusted with myself. We were doing so well. How did this happen?
I retrace my fit. I was sweeping. There’s the broom. A trail from her crib to the rocking chair. Her sleep sack. My milk soaked left sock. A hair thing I swore was still holding my face up and piles and piles and piles of green wilted cabbage.
*gags
The baby smiles, choking on the bits of cabbage still stuck to my chest.
Fancy that.
CABBAGE LEAVES AND WEANING
by Stone Soup
Tired of being your babies pacifer? Struggling with over supply? Desperate for physical autonomy? Grab some green cabbage!
Using cabbage leaves for weaning is an effective way to dry up your milk supply.
Leave the cabbage on your breasts until they begin to wilt and repeat the treatment as many times a day as you want.
It may take several days for your milk to dry up with this method and your baby might choke on it if you forget it’s there.
KITCHEN WITCH
by Stone Soup
A kitchen witch is any individual who brings intentional, energetic work into their use of food as medicine or witchcraft!
KITCHEN WITCH
by Stone Soup
A kitchen witch is also a homemade poppet or doll displayed in kitchens to ward off bad spirits and (most importantly) bad cooking.
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