When my first daughter was born, I panicked.

I was 25, newly married and trying to adjust to life as a stay-at-home mom after leaving my previous position in sports marketing. I loved my job, but it was woefully conducive to starting a family. That, added to my own experiences as the daughter of a round-the-clock working single mother, fueled my decision to stay home.

But even in light of the intent and inspiration behind my choice, I struggled. I was afraid of going to the grocery store alone with my baby, so trips to the park to meet up with other new mommies were totally out. In the evenings, when my husband was working, I begged my mom to come to my house - just in case I needed help with feedings, or baths, or naptime, or diaper changes or...

Now, as a mom of three - all aged five and under - I look back on those times in borderline embarrassment. See, I have raising babies down to a (relative) science. I can nurse my 13 month-old and help my five year-old with her reading lessons at the same time, all the while innately sensing that my sweet middle child is in her room, drawing on the wall in brown crayon.

I wish I could say that my newfound kid-rearing ease came from a Divine revelation, an "aha" moment, that immediately snapped me out of my fearful trance. But it didn't. Slowly but surely - and then more quickly, once I discovered I was pregnant with baby number two - I realized that I had to step outside of the fears that were boxing me in, put one foot in front of the other and trust that God would do the rest.

I understand, now, that it wasn't the act of taking care of my daughter that was so difficult or overwhelming. It was the newness of the situation that challenged me and pushed me way, way, way outside of my comfort zone.

And as each new day brings new opportunities and mental hurdles to clear, I remind myself of the days when I wouldn't even attempt to wash the dishes if my baby wasn't asleep. And that, most importantly, I can do all things through Christ.

This, too, will I conquer.