“This baby is lucky to have you as parents,” the older lady in a blue skirt and white blouse said as she quietly knelt next to me. She stared at Jude, who was sleeping against my chest in the wrap I wear him in several hours a day.

“You’ve got him next to your heart. Right where he should be,” she said, gently touching my shoulder. Jason and I didn’t say a word as we basked in the kindness of this stranger. We just nodded and, as for me, I blinked back tears. “Have a wonderful life. God bless you.”

I kissed Jude’s head, closed my eyes, and breathed in the sweetness as this precious lady walked away. You see, the past month has been tough, to understate it. Not only have I battled some of those typical post partum physical and emotional issues, but we’ve discovered that Jude has some of his own colic and reflux issues. It has made for some very wild evenings and some very long crying sessions, on Jude’s part and mine.

And these crying sessions in all their vigor and lengthy-ness have left me feeling like a failure. What kind of mother can’t soothe and calm her child? What kind of mom can’t figure out what’s making her child cry? I’ve asked the questions over and over, grieving that this season of motherhood has not looked anything like I expected. This season in which all those instincts a mom is supposed to have, all those motherly lullabies and caresses that are supposed to work, have failed.

But then there have been angels. Like little old ladies in blue. And then there’s the mom who showed me how to tie my Sleepy Wrap, a perfect stranger whose blue-eyed baby boy was also named Jude.

There’s also the Le Leche League ladies who offered incredible support right when I needed it. And I can’t forget the ladies at 9 Months & Beyond who have been there for me around the clock with strength, kindness and wisdom since before Jude was even born. There are the three women I emailed on one of my darkest days, who wrote back immediately to share their stories of colic and tears and that they truly did know how hard it was. And when I got an infection and ran a fever two weeks after Jude was born, it was my mom who drove seven hours in the middle of the night to take care of us so Jason could work.

Angels, every one. Angels who didn’t make the problems and the pain go away. But who showed us a new way to nurture our son. Who helped us see the glory in the grime. Angels who gave us a softer place to land in all our falling and flailing.

Jason and I watched the little old lady in the blue skirt walk past the deli counter at the store. “That was an angel,” I told him, completely convinced.

“I’m keeping an eye on her,” he said, nodding. “See if she disappears into thin air.”

We laughed and breathed another sigh after we saw her turn a corner. We’ve always known we’re lucky that Jude’s our son. Our little angel helped us believe again that he’s lucky to have us, too.