‘What is love? Baby, don’t hurt me, baby don’t hurt me, no more’.
I love that song.
But really? This is a question that has been asked over and over from the beginning of time; what is love? Sure there are many answers to this question but do we really know?!
Oooh, I know, I know!
Love is getting over excited about your one-year-old’s cake smash photo shoot to the extent of baking a cake from scratch, (it was a box cake but its the effort that counts) only for him to run from the cake on the day of the photo shoot like its a Decepticon.
Love is waking up four hours before you have to to get ready for work and putting on your nice clothes and your makeup so that when baba wakes up with only an hour or so to spare before you have to leave for work, he can caress the makeup off your face in his sleepiness and soak your clothes in his bath water. If the love is really strong, you may just get a kick to the stomach while you struggle with his diaper.
Love is holding a bowl of your favourite but not-so-baby-friendly snack like the torch of the Statue of Liberty. Until you’re finished.
Love is disconnecting the power to the keyboard of your tablet and relying solely on touch-screen technology because your baby clearly has a very important essay to complete.
Love is that tough decision at night on which pajama top to wear to bed and your choices are: wear the one with buttons that your baby likes to chew on and sleep with a soaked front or wear the cute little crop top pajamas that your baby likes to aggressively raise to play with your tummy ring while exposing you to anyone in the room.
Hmmm, tough choices; they’re both so good!
Love is sharing half of your carefully portioned meal with your baby only for him to store it all in his cheeks in true hamster fashion then spit it all out when you’re done. And you’re still hungry… and now he wants his fruit cup.
Love is having an audience when you use the bathroom. Every. Single.Time.
Love is enduring the most awkward of positions on the floor because, somehow, his toys are not as enjoyable when you’re sitting in the comfort of your sofa. Oh, but don’t touch his toys though. Just sit and watch, and sometimes engage and acknowledge the toy he’s showing you. And suffer.
Love is choosing to bond with your relatively clean baby over bath time only for him to subsequently soil his onesie in shit and smear it across your relatively clean floor so you can then bond with your mop and bucket.
Love is sleeping without a pillow because although you were thoughtful enough to give your baby his own pillow to hog at night, he still cries at two every morning to lie on your pillow instead. Horizontally.
Love is spending way longer than should be necessary to iron a rather inefficient and wrinkle-prone but pretty dress to wear out with your baby for the day only for him to perform his best rendition of ‘Tantrum at the Opera’ in his stroller. Now, you have to hold him on your hip all day. The hip covered in that pretty dress…Annnnd now he wants to go back in his stroller.
Love is spending months protecting your eager baby from falling out of the doorway to the backyard only to have him want to do nothing but climb back in during outside play time.
Love is enduring a bout of emotional and clammy-handed abuse because your baby seems to have forgotten how to fight sleep with himself and is now fighting his sleep with you. Literally.
Love is going through all of these things with such a tiny inexperienced, demanding individual but still willing to rip the beating heart out of the chest of anyone who dares to cause him any harm.
How can I know this? The true meaning of love?
I am a mother.