We all cherish our children. It’s a phrase we share: “I adore my kids.” We express it to our little ones: “I love you.” “I love you to the moon and back.” “I love you beyond measure.” “I love you more than anything in existence.” We read them heartwarming books like Love You Forever, On the Day You Were Born, and Mama, Do You Love Me? We repeat the word “love” over and over again. Four letters. One syllable. Love. I love you, sweetheart.
Yet we often overlook what lies behind that term. We sidestep its true meaning, yearning for the idyllic portrayals of love—those sunny moments of joy, the blissful memories of watching our child ride a bike for the first time. This is the vision of love we see on television and in glossy magazines, where love is treated as a noun.
But love is not a noun. Love is a verb.
Love encompasses nine months of nausea, discomfort, and sleepless nights. It includes the linea nigra and enduring twelve hours of labor without anesthesia. Love is the cry for an epidural, only to be told, “Just a little longer, dear.” Love is the act of pushing, followed by the struggle of nursing a slippery newborn, trying to align nipple and mouth.
Love manifests physically: in the stretched skin, the sagging belly, the weight gained. Love is the acceptance of these changes. Love is the willingness to rise from bed yet again to soothe a newborn who is crying, not knowing why. It’s picking up your child and, despite feeling overwhelmed, softly saying, “Hey there, little one.” Love is the cycle of rocking, bouncing, feeding, and patting, sometimes accompanied by tears of frustration.
Love is waking up to unkempt hair and standing in the middle of a store, helplessly holding your squirming toddler who is demanding that Pokémon toy. You feel the stares of strangers judging you, wondering why your two-year-old knows about Pokémon. Love compels you to leave your cart full of groceries behind, walking out with your child’s wails ringing in your ears.
Love is gently cleaning the sand from your child’s eyes, holding their eyelids open while they thrash and scream, urging them to “blink, baby, blink.” It’s the understanding that your younger child caused the trouble unintentionally.
Love means applying a Band-Aid on an imaginary scrape, sometimes even two or three. Love is preparing dinner once more, fully aware that your kids will likely reject it, yet still hoping for a different outcome.
Love involves reading Hop on Pop so many times that you can recite it from memory, then bracing yourself for one more round. It’s sacrificing your TV time for Daniel Tiger, Wild Kratts, and yes, even Caillou.
Love is assembling a special Ikea Big Boy Bed, wrestling with confusing instructions so that your son can come home to a surprise. Love is shouting, “Time to brush your teeth!” and then waiting, repeating the command, finally dragging each child into the bathroom while you carefully prepare their toothbrushes, tapping your foot as they ask, “Am I done yet?” even when their toothbrush lights up to signal completion.
Love is lining up peanut butter and jelly, searching for a knife, and preparing plates. It’s the meticulous process of spreading jelly on two slices, followed by peanut butter, always in that precise order, so the kids can enjoy a snack.
Love means wrestling with a car seat installation, repeatedly instructing, “Climb into your seat,” every day, and patiently adjusting the complicated straps to ensure safety. Love is an action. It’s doing what has to be done, even when you’re exhausted and frazzled.
Love is effort. Love is perseverance. Love is a verb.
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In summary, love is not merely a feeling but a series of actions and choices we make daily in the lives of our children. It’s the commitment to show up, to care, and to nurture, even when it’s challenging. Love is indeed a verb, requiring constant effort and dedication.