A couple of years ago, when I took a nutrition science course, two of the supporting faculty members happened to be researchers who studied the gut microbiome. I didn’t go into the course expecting to learn much about gut health, but something about their sessions made me curious. I ordered their book soon after, just to understand their work a little better. And that’s when I learned something I had never really thought about before: a baby’s gut microbes begin at birth. They come from us. That simple idea stayed with me and quietly changed the way I think about nourishment.
Until then, I never considered that we inherit more than the foods we grow up with or the habits we carry into adulthood. We inherit a beginning — a microbial starting point shaped long before we understand anything about food or health. When I learned that my children’s first microbes came from me, it made me pause. Not in a pressured way, but in a way that made me feel connected to something bigger than I had realized.
Growing up, I didn’t think about gut health at all. We simply ate what was cooked at home, followed our routines, fell sick, recovered, and kept going. There was no conversation about microbes or diversity or balance. But now, as a mother learning all this later in life, I can see how those early patterns shaped parts of me — my digestion, my immunity, even my natural preferences around food.
And that makes me look at my children with a different kind of awareness. Not fear. Not guilt. Just awareness. The idea that I shaped the beginning of their gut story makes the everyday moments feel a little more meaningful: chopping vegetables, simmering dal, cutting fruit for a snack, choosing something familiar, or trying something new. These small decisions aren’t perfect or scientific — they’re simply part of the environment they grow up in.
But I also remind myself of something important:
Birth is only the beginning.
Everything that happens now — our daily meals, the variety I try to bring into the week, the calm rhythms of our home, the way we eat together, the outdoor play, the way they move through sickness and recovery — all of that builds their microbiome too. Their resilience, their appetite, their relationship with food… it’s all being shaped slowly by real life, not by a single moment or choice.
And the truth is, I am not responsible for their entire gut story. I’m shaping a chapter. They will take it forward with their own lives — the foods they discover, the habits they form, the places they go, the routines they create as adults. Knowing that brings a kind of peace. It reminds me that I don’t need to aim for perfection. I just need to offer steadiness, warmth, and a home where food feels safe and enough.
Sometimes I think about my own mother cooking for us. She wasn’t thinking about microbes or fiber types. She was simply feeding her family with what she knew and what she had. And somehow, that was enough to give me a beginning that carried me into adulthood. I hold onto that when I feel myself overthinking things now.
Because nourishment isn’t about getting everything right.It’s about showing up, again and again, in small ways.
My children inherited their first microbes from me.
But the rest — their resilience, their rhythms, their comfort with food — will grow with them as they move through life.
And in that thought, I find something steady to stand on.
Nourishment isn’t a performance.
It’s a quiet legacy — shaped through the everyday moments we often overlook.
Share this article
