What compels me

Sometimes I don’t know what compels me to ask how “You and baby” are doing at a postpartum visit (instead of my standard “How is baby doing” and later “how are YOU doing?”)

Then a woman shares her struggles with having to quit breastfeeding due to baby not growing and stooling appropriately. And she tells me she doesn’t have an appetite. And that she cries all the time.

I have the opportunity to empathize with her, to agree that it’s hard. I tell her about postpartum depression, how it’s normal to feel this way when so much is going on in her life. I tell her she can get help.

I encourage her to take care of herself–to make a list of things she can have people do when they ask how they can help. I give her suggestions for her list: watch the older child for an afternoon, hold the baby while I sleep, go grocery shopping, wash and cut some vegetables for me, wash and fold the laundry, just listen to me tell you how *I* am.

I encourage her to loosen her standards for household activities–to let herself be okay with laundry that isn’t put away or a toilet that isn’t scrubbed. I encourage her to get some sleep when baby’s sleeping, or even to just lie down and rest. I tell her it’s okay if things stay undone for a while–this is just a season.

I encourage her to talk to a doctor about postpartum depression. I tell her about how he might be able to recommend counseling or medications that can make a big difference.

I give her ideas to help her get adequate nutrition, even when she doesn’t feel like cooking or eating.

And I realize that I know what compelled me–No, WHO compelled me–to ask this woman how *she* was doing first.

Because God knew this woman needed someone to listen and understand. Because God knew this woman needed someone to tell her that she’s normal, she’s okay. Because God knew this woman needed someone to give her hope that this dark time won’t last forever.