Love is...

I've been thinking about this for a long time, but I have been really hesitant to write this post, because I am so afraid it will come out sounding preachy and self-righteous. I DONOT want that! In fact, this post is partly for me to come forward and communicate just how lost and helpless I have felt in the last several months.

Before we were married, my husband and I took a marriage-prep class at our church. I heard one of the pastors define love as "zealously guarding the happiness of another." I had never heard it put that way, and I liked it. After mulling it over, I made a few tweaks of my own and came up with something slightly more complicated, but I felt it rounded out the concept in my mind a bit more: "Zealously guarding the well-being of another at one's own expense." I like that definition, I feel like it covers many different aspects. I shared it with my father tonight, and he gave me his simplified version: "putting others ahead of yourself." I love my Dad's way with words. Somehow, he always manages to communicate thoughtfully and efficiently.

I also remember the "blessing" he gave to my husband and me at our wedding. He quoted a Clint Black song called "Something That We Do." The lyrics continually return to the title message that "love isn't something that we find ... [it] isn't something that we have ... [it's] not just something that we're in ... Love isn't just those words we said ... [it] isn't someplace that we fall, it's something that we do."

I have heard many people say that marriage is refining. Sixteen months in, I can wholeheartedly agree! I have learned so much about how selfish and impatient I tend to be, and I have had so many opportunities to practice "putting others ahead of myself." I am fond of saying "it hasn't all been easy, but it's all been good." It's not always pleasant, but I am so thankful to be slowly learning how to love.

Then I had a baby.

Yikes.

I won't mince words, that first month was torture. Our poor baby was (and still is) terrifically fussy. She cried so much in her first few days that even the nurses were astonished. She was only 2 days old when she lost her voice from all the screaming. It was horrible, but it was to become a regular occurrence: she lost her voice about once a week until about a month ago when it went away and never came back. Our poor baby has been hoarse for a month, but that's another story. If she was awake, she was crying. She wouldn't sleep unless we were holding her, and even then she needed to be rocked and nursed.

Now, I want to reassure you that this is exceptional behavior, not the norm. Approximately 20% of babies fit into this "extremely fussy" category, and our little one's condition was exacerbated by undiagnosed acid reflux which was causing her pain. Please don't let this scare you away from babies, they really are lovely!

In addition to the fussy baby, I was recovering from a C-section and was weak, sore and had a difficult time getting around. It was a good two weeks before I was able to manage anything more than shuffling around the apartment. Usually after major abdominal surgery you are told to rest and take it easy, but I had an infant who needed to be cared for and comforted constantly. She didn't know I was supposed to be resting. I was also experiencing extreme pain while nursing (another story, the details of which I will spare you. Suffice it to say that this too is abnormal), and this made me dread the task of feeding my baby--the one thing which seemed to calm her down!

Add to all this the fact that my husband is in his medical residency and was on overnight calls at the hospital every few days and was absent most of the time, and exhausted when he was home.

The first two months were a nightmarish ordeal. I was in excruciating pain, utterly exhausted, emotionally drained, and very alone. My only company during those long days and even longer nights was this tiny, needy creature who just. Wouldn't. Stop. Crying! I have never felt more helpless, more defeated than I did then.

I often find myself candidly telling people about this, describing my frustration with a child who refused to be comforted, the infuriation of a baby who screams when there doesn't seem to be anything wrong. I decide to be honest and tell them how many times I wanted to shake her and yell at her to shut up (which I never did), and I am met by shocked and horrified stares.

"How could you say such a thing?!" they ask.

"Don't you love your baby?!?!"

Yes.

Yes I love her.

I love her dearly.

I love her so much I would do anything for her.

I love her so much that I DIDN'T shake her.

I love her so much that I bounced her around the apartment, even though I could barely stand.

I love her so much that I nursed her every time she was hungry, even though the pain was so great that it often caused me to weep.

I love her so much that I held her through the night, watching the moon make it's lonely way across the night sky, just so that she could sleep, even though it meant no rest for me.

I love her so much that I gave her absolutely everything I possibly had to give. I poured out my life and my soul and my strength day after day, even though I got nothing in return except more fussing.

If love is warm fuzzy feelings about someone, then no. No, I didn't love my baby during those first two months.

But if love is "zealously guarding the well-being of another at your own expense," or more concisely, "putting others ahead of yourself," then yes I do love her.

I love her more than I will ever be able to express.

And yet I still lose my patience, I still get frustrated, I am still terribly selfish. Every day I get a little taste of just how much more I have to learn, how very imperfect I am. And every day I become more thankful that there is Someone who loves me in spite of all of that. Someone who loved me enough to take all the consequences of my shortcomings upon Himself. Someone who loved me enough to die for me. To learn more about this, ask me, or click here.