We all cherish our children. We share with one another, “I adore my kids.” We express it to our little ones: “I love you.” “I love you to the stars and back.” “I love you more than anything imaginable.” “I love you more than the universe.” We read them heartwarming tales like Love You Forever, On the Day You Were Born, and Mama, Do You Love Me?
Yet, how often do we delve into what lies beneath that simple word? We often overlook it, brushing it aside. We desire the joyous moments of love, the vibrant birthday celebrations filled with unicorns. We envision the sweet memories of watching our children take off on their bikes. This is the portrayal of love showcased on television and in glossy magazines. They present love as a noun.
However, love is not merely a noun; it is a verb.
Love encompasses the nine months of morning sickness, discomfort, swelling, and sleepless nights. It’s the linea nigra and enduring 12 hours of labor without pain relief. Love is the desperate plea for an epidural when you’re told, “Just a little longer, dear.” Love is the act of pushing, and then it transforms into the challenge of holding a fragile newborn at your breast, struggling to find the right latch.
Love manifests physically: it’s the creased skin on your abdomen, the sagging belly, the extra pounds. Love is the acceptance of these changes. Love is pushing through exhaustion to attend to a crying baby, even when you feel like throwing in the towel. It’s the soft “Hey there, little one” that escapes your lips instead of a frustrated outburst. Love is the endless cycle of rocking, bouncing, feeding, and comforting, even when tears of frustration blur your vision.
Love is the messy hair you wake up to the next day. Love is standing in the middle of Target, frozen in place, while your toddler throws a tantrum over a Pokémon toy. You know others are judging as you exit the store, cart abandoned, to the soundtrack of your child’s wailing.
Love is cleaning sand out of tiny eyes while your child squirms and screams, urging them to “blink, darling, blink.” It’s soothing your younger child, knowing they didn’t mean to cause harm.
Love is slapping on Band-Aids for non-existent cuts—two, maybe three.
Love involves preparing another dinner, even if you detest cooking, all while anticipating the inevitable complaints about how “gross” it is. You mix ingredients, hoping against hope that this time it will be different, though deep down, you know it won’t.
Love means reading Hop on Pop so many times that you can recite it, only to find yourself sitting down to read it yet again.
Love is sacrificing your own TV time for Daniel Tiger and Wild Kratts, and yes, even Caillou.
Love is assembling the Ikea Big Boy Bed, navigating the confusing instructions in time for your son’s return.
Love is shouting, “Time to brush your teeth!” and then repeating it, dragging each child into the bathroom, carefully applying toothpaste to their princess brushes, while they ask, “UmIdunyet?” even though their brushes light up upon completion.
Love is lining up peanut butter and jelly, searching for a knife, and preparing plates. It’s the careful layering of jelly and peanut butter in the exact order so the kids can enjoy their snack.
Love is the daily wrestling match with a car seat, calling out “Get into your seat!” countless times, and patiently securing the straps, ensuring they are tight yet comfortable.
Love is action. It’s about doing what needs to be done, even when you’re utterly exhausted, unwashed, and maybe a tad bit frazzled.
Love is laborious. Love is doing it all anyway.
Love is a verb.
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In summary, love in parenting is not just a feeling but a series of actions and sacrifices that we make daily. It’s the active commitment to our children’s well-being, even when it feels overwhelming. Love is indeed a verb, and it is woven into every moment of our parenting journey.
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