down came the rain and washed the mother out....

In my profession we identify it "postpartum depression" but when I sit with Jesus, he reminds me of the cross he has chosen me to bear. I know that I am a good mother but I cannot help but sing lullibies of the spider that drowns from the rain waiting for the sun. Hours go by and I look at my schedule because if i sit too long, my fear is that I will die. Pain seems to sit next to me on the other side of Jesus letting me know it's time to cry. When I cry, I feel like I have emptied out the overly flow of desparity , it feels soothing like when my breasts are emptied from nursing. I find solace, I remember but I no longer recognize my face, just a shadow of meekness crawling around the house picking up toys and folding a pair of pants that need to be hung. This ritual brings peace to my children letting them know that a mother doesn't fall , she limps even when it's painful , when it's slippery, when it's unimaginable.