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"He will feed his flock like a shepherd. He will carry the lambs in his arms, holding them close to his heart. He will gently lead the mother sheep with their young." Isaiah 40:11 (NLT) If there is one thing that has crushed but healed me, destroyed but restored me, burdened yet freed me, it's motherhood. I remember when we were driving my son home from the hospital last June, my husband said with wide eyes, "I can't believe they just let us take him home with no instructions." Oh, how I underestimated my ineptness to care for such a wrinkly, innocent creature. I had so many plans for sleep training, I had watched so many videos on infant psychology, and I had prayed all the prayers to prepare my heart. But postpartum depression was so fierce that I spent nearly four months constantly crying. I was so in love with this baby boy but deeply grieving my pre-mom freedom. I smelled of sour milk, was constantly drenched in pee, and wasn't supposed to drink the big doses of caffeine to help. "What did I just do?" I asked my mom on the phone, having a meltdown. "I don't know if I can do this for eighteen years." The truth is that, deep down, I didn't know a love so strong could exist. I loved my son so much that I was terrified. Everything now seemed like a threat to his livelihood—driving him places, letting people hold him, letting him sleep swaddled versus unswaddled (or on his back versus stomach). My brain couldn't hold all the fight-or-flight responses that my body wanted to engage, so I was left feeling hopeless. Hopelessly unable to love this child perfectly. | 
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