Why Cooking Together Has Become Our Therapy

I'm not a naturally gifted cook. Before Xing's diagnosis, my culinary repertoire consisted of pasta with jar sauce, scrambled eggs, and the occasional stir-fry that was 70% soy sauce. I could follow a recipe if I had to, but I didn't enjoy it. Cooking felt like a chore.

Now? Cooking is the thing that keeps me sane.

What Happened

In the early days after the diagnosis, I felt completely useless. Xing was the one dealing with the physical reality of gestational diabetes – the finger pricks, the food restrictions, the constant mental load of calculating carbs and checking labels. I was just... there. Watching. Worrying. Not helping.

One evening, about a week in, Xing was sitting at the kitchen table staring at her phone, trying to figure out what she could eat for dinner that wouldn't spike her blood sugar. She looked exhausted.

"I'll cook," I said.

"You don't have to," she said.

"I want to."

I didn't have a plan. I just opened the fridge, looked at what we had, and started chopping vegetables. I made a simple chicken stir-fry with loads of veg and a small portion of rice. Nothing fancy, but it was edible.

An hour after eating, Xing tested her blood sugar. 5.9 mmol/L. Well within range.

"That worked," she said, looking at the metre in surprise.

"Yeah," I said. "It did."

And just like that, I had a purpose.

How It Felt

For Xing, having me take over the cooking meant one less thing to worry about. She didn't have to spend her evenings googling "gestational diabetes dinner ideas" or second-guessing whether a meal would spike her levels. She could just eat and trust that I'd figured it out.

For me, it was a lifeline. I finally had something I could do to help. I couldn't take away the diagnosis. I couldn't make the blood sugar testing less annoying. But I could cook. I could research. I could experiment with recipes and portion sizes and figure out what worked.

Cooking became my way of showing love when words felt inadequate.

What We Learnt

Here's what I didn't expect: cooking for Xing has made me a better cook. Not just technically (though I've definitely improved), but emotionally. I've learnt to pay attention. To notice what she likes and what she doesn't. To adapt recipes on the fly when something isn't working.

I've also learnt that cooking doesn't have to be complicated to be good. Some of our best meals have been the simplest ones: scrambled eggs with tomato, a salad with leftover chicken, salmon roasted with lemon and green beans. The key isn't fancy techniques or exotic ingredients. It's just paying attention to what works.

And here's the surprising bit: Xing has started cooking with me. Not every night, but sometimes. She'll chop vegetables while I handle the pan, or she'll suggest a tweak to a recipe I'm trying. It's become our thing. Our way of spending time together that isn't about the diagnosis or the baby or the stress of everything else.

It's just us, in the kitchen, making dinner.

Real Dad Tip

Learn to cook one thing really well.

You don't have to become a chef. You don't have to master fifty recipes. Just pick one meal – something simple, something your partner likes – and get really good at it.

For me, it's scrambled eggs. I've made them so many times now that I don't even think about it. I know exactly how much butter to use, how long to cook them, when to take them off the heat. It's muscle memory.

And on the days when everything feels overwhelming and I don't have the energy to think about what to cook, I can fall back on that one thing. It's reliable. It works. And Xing knows that if I'm making scrambled eggs, her blood sugar will be fine.

Start with one meal. Master it. Then build from there.

Last night, Xing and I made dinner together. She chopped the vegetables while I cooked the salmon. We didn't talk much – just worked side by side, the radio playing in the background.

When we sat down to eat, she tested her blood sugar an hour later. 5.6 mmol/L. Perfect.

"Good job," she said, smiling.

"Team effort," I said.

And it was.