The woman behind the counter placed my change carefully into my hand. Her eyes were filled with suspicion. Enunciating her words in a low tone she said, “I would say thank you, but I’m afraid you would bite my head off.” I had not uttered a single word. Apparently, I didn’t have to. My face was screaming at everyone in the room. step back, there’s a storm brewing! Even strangers could see the dark cloud that was hanging over me. After being stunned by her description of me, I grabbed all my groceries and ran out the door.
This encounter made me shake my head on the way home. In my mind, I thought I was in a calm, but solemn, mood. It was actually my first experience with postpartum depressive disorder.
As soon as I entered, I put my groceries down on the table in the kitchen and went to my baby who was sleeping. After scooping her into my arms I started waltzing around the living room. In that moment I held on to my precious newborn, and my heavenly father. As I hummed in praise and worship as I danced with my little girl, I felt a surge of gratitude for her sweet smell and…
