Motherhood really changes us...

I said at the beginning that motherhood changes the way we see things. And in the past few months I've come to realize just how true that is.

Becoming the mother of not one, but two children delivered directly into their Maker's hands has monumentally changed my outlook yet again.

I don't know why I came here now to write this, and I sincerely apologize if you arrived expecting movie reviews and discussions of favorite kitchen cleaners. But if you've come here at all, there's a reason, and the Spirit is leading me to share the truth of my experience. I don't know if it's ironic or appropriate that I begin this on the eve of the first Sunday of Lent, but humbly I invite you to tread with me as I share my journey through the only desert my life has ever known.

Part I

Approaching the Desert...

I guess the story really begins a little over 6 years ago when our first son was born. The pregnancy was uneventful, and I was as naive and paranoid as any first-time pregnant woman would be... but oh, I was joyful. It was when the time came for labor and delivery, that things went downhill. I was having no noticeable contractions, but had gone to the hospital because I felt perhaps my water had broken, although it seemed to be a pinhole. When the nurse confirmed I was indeed leaking amniotic fluid, the tears began to flow. When they told me I'd labored too long and would be prepped for a c-section, I was hysterical. When the head of anesthesiology came to apologize because they'd administered the wrong drug to my epidural for the surgery, I was paralyzed with fear. When I realized I had some real paralysis in my leg, that my son was losing weight and turning yellow, and that I'd somehow have to figure this all out very quickly, the despair set in.

With the help of my God, my husband, family and friends, I made it through. WE made it through. Our little boy was laid-back, affectionate, and smart despite his mother's fits of hysterical crying and obsessive worry. The feeling in my leg returned miraculously overnight about 8 weeks after the birth, and the week after that I returned to work, confident this was the way I could have it all.

But then the dry season began. I began to lie awake at night with worry of ridiculously impossible things, things I couldn't control. And this was an all too familiar feeling, one I could remember experiencing as young as 5 years old. I began turning the car around a mile from home to go back and make sure all of the burners in the stove were turned off and the door was locked. I wouldn't let my husband out alone on a rainy night. And I wondered why. Not why I was doing all of that but why life was worth it at all when it was so filled with peril. I withdrew from my friends, shopped like crazy, and wondered if I could really find the strength to drive my car off the highway and into a telephone pole at full speed. Because that plan wasn't something I'd just say sarcastically to anyone who asked about how I was handling the stress of being a new mom, working and moving into a new home... it was very real to me. Something I longed for.

Looking at the smiling face of my son, feeling his kisses on my cheek and nose.... convinced me I needed to try to get that plan out of my head. And so I sought help. Unfortunately it wasn't really the help I needed. The first counselor I happened upon gave me an inkblot test and after a few weeks of appointments in which I just cried and told her my story, she delivered the results of that test. "You're not depressed," she said. "You're just a drama queen."

Despite a mis-diagnosis, my depression seemed to have been talked-out of me and some life changes, like quitting my job and staying home with our 15-month old, seemed to make me feel like my old self again.

This was the first oasis.

(to be continued...)