What is love?

Love is dragging my half-limp body to my daughters room at 6 o'clock in the morning, her sweet smile of recognition sending a flood of warmth through my veins. Love is watching her stretch when I unfasten her swaddle and her arms swing free.

Love is hearing her first gigantic laugh, as I struggle to cut my pork chop with a dull knife. Apparently that's just hysterical. It's making every goofy face and noise I can make to hear it again, to no avail. 

Love is learning to smile through the tantrums and spit-up and diaper explosions. It's learning to let go of all the worries of judgement and ridicule. Babies are noisy, messy, and stinky; and if you don't believe me- I hope Abigail spits up on your most expensive shirt. :) 

Love is my mother coming upstairs to comfort me at 3am when I am anxious and upset, sacrificing her sleep to make sure I'm okay.

Love is Christ dying on the cross so that we, as sinners, may be forgiven and join Him in Heaven for a glorious eternity. 

Love is tearfully tossing piles of clothes in a bin when they will no longer fit on Abigail's chubby thighs. Love is knowing that God gave me the ability to provide nourishment for her with my own body so that she may have all those adorable fat rolls. 

Love is using Abby's nap time to take notes and study. It's kissing her goodbye as I leave to go to class, checking my phone constantly to see the pictures that mom sends of her sleeping. 

Love is my family taking Abigail when I have to go to work or school, or I need to study or take a test. Love is knowing they are there for me whenever I need them.

Love is recognizing every cry and knowing what it means. It's the feeling I get when she immediately recognizes my voice and my smell when I pick her up. It's the feeling of being the only one to be able to comfort her when she's really upset. 

Love is walking up and down the hall for half an hour, losing all feeling in my arms, just so she can fall asleep on my chest and drool all over my shirt. 

Love is wearing spit-up stains like a high fashion pendant. It's constantly keeping a change of clothes for both of us in the diaper bag. Two, even. 

Love is leaving her once again to go to work at a baby store, where I promise I won't buy her another toy or outfit or hair bow. Love is breaking that promise and spoiling her anyway.

Love is holding my incredible daughter and kissing her on the forehead as drool drips down my arm. Love is singing "You Are My Sunshine" to her a million times every night. 

Love is seeing her Papa's face light up when she gives him that crooked grin. It's listening to her having a fit in Nanny's lap, then shutting right up when Nanny playfully cries back at her. 

Love is seeing how she squints one eye more than the other when she smiles, and realizing it's a mirror of my own smile. 

Love is tricking her into sucking my finger when there's no pacifier around, then laughing when she makes a face, realizing it's not a paci and does not taste like milk. 

Love is leaving the house in a stained t-shirt and leggings, while Abigail rocks a full outfit, complete with a bow that is bigger than her face. That bow usually comes off within 5 minutes of her wiggling around. 

Love is the amazing support system I have. Family, friends, blog readers, whoever. I love you all. Thank you.

Love is having 2,000 pictures of my girl on my phone. Love is knowing half of them are blurs of hands and burp cloths, but not having the heart to delete any.

Love is owning dozens of burp cloths but still never having one when you need it. At that point, any cloth within reach is a burp cloth. I apologize if it just happens to be the shirt you are currently wearing.

Love is realizing this post has absolutely no structure to it and not caring one little bit. 

Love is watching Sasha gently sniff her and lick her cheek, but never approaching her when nobody is around. Love is Abigail staring at the dog like it's the most incredible thing she's ever seen. 

Love is the scratch marks her little fingernails leave on my arms and neck. That girl has a strong grip.

Love is hearing her talk to her toys and having conversations with the television from across the house. Love is knowing when that chatter is going to turn into a fuss. 

Love is calling her every name in the book. Fussy wussy, smidge, little bit, babby, ab, pookie, shall I go on?

Love is finding confidence in myself as a mother as the days go on. It's accepting that every day is a learning experience, and it all comes down to trial and error. Love is knowing that this little girl came from God and grew in my own body. Love is in the smallest things she does. It's the growing and learning that we both have to do. 

Love is what gets me through the day, and what I strive to shower my daughter and family and friends in every single day. Love is praying every day for guidance as I face this world as a single mother with an amazing support system. Love is the wisdom and strength that God gives me to handle even the toughest situations.

xoxo, a.