My yellow in this case is not so mellow
In fact I’m trying to say it’s frightened like me…
But I’m bold, I’m bold as love
Jimi Hendrix, Bold As Love

Love is not a cuddly sort of thing. All parents know this. It’s not pink-and-blue fluffs in a perfectly decorated nursery. It’s not painless, easy breastfeeding. It’s not sleeping through the night. It’s not tearless days. It’s not setting him in a swing where he contentedly occupies himself with dangling mobiles and slobbery gurgles for hours at a time in between naps and feedings.

That’s not love. It’s convenient. But it’s not love. It makes visiting with friends and family stress-free. But it’s not love. It makes cleaning the house possible. But it’s still not love.

Love is found in the foxholes, the trenches. It’s in the warzone where you’ll do things like drive to Alabama at the drop of a hat on a Saturday night to get him a special reflux bed. Where you’ll let him scream in your ear while you hold him and softly sing “Sweet Baby James” to a backdrop of blaring white noise. Where you’ll even surrender the deeply entrenched neuroses that you’ve come to know so well so that your son won’t come to know a co-dependent mother.

Because that’s the kind of thing love does. And damn it, you wouldn’t have learned that any other way than by way of colic, tears, and a little acid reflux.

It’s easy to love a smiley, sleepy baby. But love is not the easy thing. And you love your son more than you love life.

Posted under life stuff  |    No Comments