Making Caregiving
More Transparent

"At my 42-day postpartum checkup, the doctor looked at my complete blood count and said, “You’ve recovered very well—your qi and blood have been replenished.” The first person I wanted to share that with was Auntie Xie, our postpartum nanny. Honestly, in the first few days after giving birth, I felt completely depleted—my complexion was waxy yellow, I would break into a cold sweat with even a little movement, my milk took a long time to come in, and I often woke up at night because my hands and feet were cold. On her first day, Auntie Xie felt my wrist and looked at my tongue coating, then told me confidently, “You have a typical qi-and-blood deficiency. Don’t worry—give me two weeks of food therapy and I’ll help you recover.” Later I learned that she had seriously studied traditional Chinese medicine; it was not just talk. She could clearly explain which meridian each ingredient benefits and which body types should avoid what. Even my mother-in-law, a devoted wellness enthusiast, was convinced by her. Auntie is from Guangdong, and making soup truly seems to be in her bones. Her soups were never the bland, tasteless kind of “confinement water.” Every day, there was a pot gently simmering on the stove. The pork rib soup with corn and carrots was sweet and light without being greasy; winter melon and coix seed were cooked until perfectly tender; dried tofu skin soaked up all the broth. Auntie said soup-making depends on heat control and timing: bones need to go into cold water first so the blood foam can be skimmed off, while corn and carrots should be added later to preserve their sweetness. She would also wrap medicinal ingredients in gauze and tie the bundle before adding it to the pot, saying it keeps the soup clear rather than cloudy and prevents the herbs from overpowering the flavor. I used to be most afraid of soups with a strong medicinal taste, but every bowl she made was fresh and clean, with a naturally sweet aftertaste. I could actually finish two big bowls, soup and ingredients included. She truly knows how to replenish qi and blood. Rather than crudely forcing down brown-sugar water, she organized my diet in stages: the first week focused on gently helping discharge lochia; the second week added astragalus, angelica root, and five-red soup; the third week included donkey-hide gelatin, longan, and black-bone chicken. I lost less hair, my complexion gradually changed from waxy yellow back to rosy pale, and the most noticeable improvement during my confinement period was my sleep. I used to wake up four or five times a night, but later I could sleep continuously for five or six hours. Even a postpartum nanny friend who came to visit said, “You really don’t look like someone who just gave birth.” Her home-style cooking was also excellent—it was not the kind of miserable “postpartum meal equals flavorless food.” In her stir-fried cauliflower with shrimp and carrots, the shrimp provided me with high-quality protein; the cauliflower and carrots were brightly colored, and a sprinkle of chopped scallions made the dish appetizing as soon as it reached the table. Her stir-fried greens were crisp and never limp; her sliced meat with mushrooms was unbelievably fresh and flavorful. Auntie could prepare a full table by herself—six or seven dishes—with meat, vegetables, and soup all thoughtfully balanced. My husband and visiting relatives benefited too, and we cleaned our plates at every meal. What moved me even more was her attentiveness: whenever the baby made even a small sound at night, she woke before I did. She changed diapers, burped, and soothed the baby to sleep so gently, as if afraid of startling the air. Every day she recorded my temperature, lochia, milk supply, and the baby’s bowel movements, filling her notebook with notes. When I had a blocked milk duct and a fever, she got up in the middle of the night to help clear the blockage and apply cold compresses, staying awake until dawn without a word of complaint. Auntie Xie does not like saying pretty things, but she cares for you and your baby as if you were family. Her cooking, her foundation in traditional Chinese medicine, and her genuine sense of responsibility are worth the price—indeed, they exceeded my expectations. If you are also looking for a postpartum nanny, especially if you care about postpartum qi-and-blood recovery and daily dietary conditioning, I sincerely recommend Auntie Xie. You will remember her soup for the rest of your life."

"We feel very fortunate to have had Sister Jia as our postpartum nanny. We believe the most important qualities in someone caring for a baby are love, attentiveness, and patience. Sister Jia truly likes babies. You can tell that she sincerely cares for every baby. The baby’s needs always come first. This caring heart is the most basic and most important quality for an infant caregiver. Sister Jia has more than ten years of experience caring for babies. She is attentive to every detail of a baby’s daily life, keenly observes the baby, and responds promptly to prevent harm from occurring or worsening. She is very patient with the baby’s daily needs. This comes not only from her natural kindness, but also reflects her professionalism and ethics. She set a wonderful example for us as first-time parents. Sister Jia is also a very good cook. She can recreate any dishes we like very well by following recipes, although she might not admit that her cooking is delicious herself, haha. Sister Jia is straightforward and open in the way she handles people and situations. Her own approach to life and child-rearing is also modern and open-minded. She gave us first-time parents a great deal of inspiration. She brought practical parenting help to our family, as well as a constant source of positive energy."

"Two months ago, Auntie Guo first walked through our door; just recently, she finished her service with our family. Those sixty days took our whole family from being overwhelmed and scrambling to feeling truly at ease. When it came to caring for the baby, Auntie Guo had the kind of steadiness that let you “dare to close your eyes.” When the baby first came home, the schedule was completely disrupted: frequent waking at night, and very hard to soothe when crying. My husband and I stayed up until our eyes were red. After Auntie Guo took over, she spent two days first learning the baby’s temperament, then adjusted things little by little: more tummy time, massages, and talking during the day; after nighttime feedings, she followed a set process for burping, swaddling, and dimming the lights. In less than two weeks, the baby could sleep for four or five hours at a stretch. She never cut corners on detailed tasks like umbilical-cord care, bathing, and preventing diaper rash. Throughout my confinement month, the baby never got water in their neck folds or developed a red bottom. What scared me most in retrospect was one time when she noticed the baby had little strength while feeding and seemed somewhat listless. She insisted we go to the hospital to have it checked, and it turned out there really was a minor issue that was addressed early. Her vigilance was far stronger than ours as new parents. Postpartum meals were another of Auntie Guo’s greatest strengths. She never made overly greasy, heavy tonic foods; what she emphasized was balance and thoughtfulness. A circle of cucumber slices wrapped around meat filling, with a bowl of refreshing soup in the middle; alongside it, a pot of milky-white soup stewed with tofu, goji berries, and scallions; plus a plate of orange-yellow stir-fried shredded vegetables and white rice. The meal was colorful and nutritionally complete. Her best dish was one with green vegetables arranged in a flower shape and slices of shiitake mushrooms placed in the center. The leaves were laid out perfectly neatly and covered with a glossy sauce; when she brought it to the table, I could hardly bear to start eating. Breakfast was even more carefully prepared: a glass of milk with papaya pieces, a plate of orange segments surrounding blueberries, and several fried eggs with lightly browned edges—refreshing and appetizing. After sixty days of eating this way, my milk supply was plentiful, I looked well, and my weight never got out of control. What I will remember for the rest of my life is the way she held the baby. In the photo, Auntie Guo is wearing red-framed glasses and a white top with a leaf pattern, holding the baby securely in her arms. The baby is wrapped in a light-colored blanket, quietly nestled against her chest. She was especially careful about her holding position—one hand supporting the head and neck, the other protecting the back and bottom, with the baby’s entire body curled up and supported. That was not a “work-style” way of holding a baby; it was the way someone holds a child when they truly care from the heart. She never overstepped or made decisions for us. She taught while she worked: how to burp the baby, how to tell whether the baby was hungry or sleepy, and how to bathe the baby without getting water in their ears—she explained everything clearly. When I felt low during my confinement month, she never lectured me. She simply brought meals to my bedside so I could eat them while they were hot. Two months is not very long. By the time Auntie Guo left, the baby had nearly doubled in size, and I had gone from being unable to turn over in bed because of incision pain to being able to take the baby out on my own. She is skilled, understands children, and is a genuinely down-to-earth person—meeting Auntie Guo was a blessing for our whole family. If anyone is looking for a postpartum nanny, she will be the first person I recommend."