rachel twelmeyer


Love /ləv/: an intense feeling of deep affection.

I don’t know if what I feel for my baby is love; it seems more akin to what a stalker must feel for his stalkee. So if thats love then yeah, I love my son.

Maybe if the definition of love mentioned something about pure obsession, then I would love my son. Or maybe if it included a phrase about an utter infatuation with his smell, or a line on wanting to consume the object of your affection, then I would love my son.

But under the current definition, love seems slightly empty and too narrow. Because sometimes in addition to feeling the closeness and affection for my baby, he also makes me feel sadness; when I stare him down in the morning, the sentiment that besieges me has the solemnity and sobriety of sadness. It makes my eyes sting like sadness. But it has more of a lilting quality to it, instead of a plummeting feeling.

It’s also kinda like that feeling you get when you pass a homeless man at an intersection, and you want so badly to help him out – to do something for him – but you know that the dollar bill or the granola bar won’t be enough, and you’re wracking your brain wondering what more you can do. It’s that cavity of helplessness that feels the same, that despite your best efforts your baby may scream his tiny lungs out or experience discomfort and frustration.

And perhaps the greatest fault in love’s definition is that it fails to acknowledge the endless supply of forgiveness you get on your baby’s behalf; he can make your life utterly miserable: in the car, at bedtime, when he decides to skip naps for a day, but then he smiles and (probably by total accident) strokes your face . . . and you are lost.

One Comment

  1. Posted April 1, 2016 at 9:48 am | Permalink

    forgiveness. endless forgiveness, the kind that empties bellies. yes.

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