My heart is open to many. My heart is open to you when I first *meet* you, unless you cross me in some way. In which case my heart will close. You may work to regain my trust, but my heart will not feel for you in the same way.
I'm participating in Shell's Pour Your Heart Out this week, because I have a little something on my mind. Love.
What do you define the word love as meaning?
For me, I love my parents, I love my brother. I've never known a day when I didn't love them. I grew to love my husband, we started as friends, and I can't say I loved him from the moment I met him, because - well, first of all, that'd be bad, as I was supposedly in love with someone else then. But eventually I found myself loving him.
I'll admit it, I didn't say it first. I waited. A few hours, even. I just felt overwhelmed and couldn't respond with an "I love you, too." It felt contrived. So I waited, and when it came out he knew I meant it.
My child, G-d, how I love this kid. Despite all the moments she has driven me to drink and then some, I love her with my whole heart. I can remember when she was born telling my husband how amazed I was at the love that could be felt for her so quickly. I also remember him saying something back that amazed me a bit. He said he loved me that much. That unconditional love I felt for my child, my husband was offering to me. I think to myself how often our other halves get under our skin. How much we struggle with the day-to-day of being parents together, thinking about the critical aspects of maintaining a family, and how love sometimes pretends to be hiding, makes you think she's disappeared.
But she never does. She's always there. She is the reason we get through the mundane things every day, the reason we're cool with letting the other do what they sometimes want and sometimes need to do. She's the reason my husband would drive me to the moon, despite likely thinking - Damn, I wish this woman would get her driver's license, already! She's the reason I tolerate the socks shoved into the couch, the glasses on the SIDE of the sink and the laundry all over his side of our bedroom floor.
Love is the reason I reach over and cover his hand with mine when we're driving around trying to get the child to nap in the car. The reason I still offer him the tip of my ice cream cone when I'm done with the rest of it, even if he doesn't want it. The reason he rubs my foot (yeah, it's usually just one) when I ask him to, or my neck if I keep on asking.
Love is love. It's unconditional, it's powerful, it's thought-provoking and it's real.
I'm participating in Shell's Pour Your Heart Out this week, because I have a little something on my mind. Love.
What do you define the word love as meaning?
For me, I love my parents, I love my brother. I've never known a day when I didn't love them. I grew to love my husband, we started as friends, and I can't say I loved him from the moment I met him, because - well, first of all, that'd be bad, as I was supposedly in love with someone else then. But eventually I found myself loving him.
I'll admit it, I didn't say it first. I waited. A few hours, even. I just felt overwhelmed and couldn't respond with an "I love you, too." It felt contrived. So I waited, and when it came out he knew I meant it.
My child, G-d, how I love this kid. Despite all the moments she has driven me to drink and then some, I love her with my whole heart. I can remember when she was born telling my husband how amazed I was at the love that could be felt for her so quickly. I also remember him saying something back that amazed me a bit. He said he loved me that much. That unconditional love I felt for my child, my husband was offering to me. I think to myself how often our other halves get under our skin. How much we struggle with the day-to-day of being parents together, thinking about the critical aspects of maintaining a family, and how love sometimes pretends to be hiding, makes you think she's disappeared.
But she never does. She's always there. She is the reason we get through the mundane things every day, the reason we're cool with letting the other do what they sometimes want and sometimes need to do. She's the reason my husband would drive me to the moon, despite likely thinking - Damn, I wish this woman would get her driver's license, already! She's the reason I tolerate the socks shoved into the couch, the glasses on the SIDE of the sink and the laundry all over his side of our bedroom floor.
Love is the reason I reach over and cover his hand with mine when we're driving around trying to get the child to nap in the car. The reason I still offer him the tip of my ice cream cone when I'm done with the rest of it, even if he doesn't want it. The reason he rubs my foot (yeah, it's usually just one) when I ask him to, or my neck if I keep on asking.
Love is love. It's unconditional, it's powerful, it's thought-provoking and it's real.
Awesome! He sounds like a keeper :-)
ReplyDeleteOn a side note, did you know that Muffin Tin Mom is doing a blog swap? I know you like them too, so I figured I'd let you know.
I really love how you described it and your examples. Beautiful, Andrea.
ReplyDeleteVery sweet! That's a real kind of love.
ReplyDeleteThanks for linking up!
I love this post. :)
ReplyDeleteFollowing you via PYHO!
My husband is out of town...again...and he sent me this text tonight:
ReplyDelete"I'm going to bed as we have to get up early to set up for our meeting tomorrow. If I don't talk to you tonight, now that I love you more than you can know..."
I read it and burst into tears and then cried for another ten minutes because there is someone who loves me that much.
Thank you for sharing this post. It was beautiful!
incredible post, andrea...
ReplyDelete;-)
i have a lump in my throat!