My son was a few weeks old when I lost faith in God’s goodness. It wasn’t a conscious decision. The change was quiet, piercing, and painful. It happened in the darkness as my body stitched itself back together and new fears filled my mind like dirty laundry shoved too tightly into a basket. I fought …
On Postpartum Anxiety, God, and Learning to Trust Again Read More »
I’m too tired to tell him that I know each act of care is his way of saying, “I love you.” We’re both learning how to be both parent and lover. Father and husband. Wife and mother.
He won’t remember those days but I hope he knows that when he screamed for love, for comfort, for gentleness, I tried my best to scream love back to him with my arms, my body, and my heart.
Hey Momma, I see you trying. You are giving so much of yourself. You love your baby more than anything and that’s what counts. As long as you love him and try, you are not a failure.
Someone once told me that we are born as mothers the day we press our baby’s souls into the world with our labor and love. We think our babies are being born, but really, we both are.
