Love is hugging someone when they’re sad even though they’re covered in their own barf.
Last night while David and I were watching TV we heard a cry from the bedroom, thinking that Verona lost her pacifier I went in to find her laying on our bed (she likes to crawl up there) in a sprawling puddle of baby vomit complete with identifiable chunks of hotdog and watermelon. It was matted through her hair, dripping off her face and clothes… and she was crying and reaching up for me. Vomits hugs… part of the parenting job. The afore mentioned situation repeated itself (usually followed by a super soapy shower for both of us) every few hours to varying degrees, including one time when a poor unfortunate Barney who had crawled up into her bed to comfort her got projectile vomited all over (he didn’t mind, eating baby vomit is a favorite pastime of his).
The whole “you don’t really know love until you have a child thing” is so cliché it makes my head hurt but there is truth to it in that it’s a whole different kind of completely selfless love. My love for Cherry Pepsi or Fraggle Rock doesn’t involve vomit hugs, my love of my friends or my brother don’t involve vomit hugs, my love for Daisy and Barney don’t involve vomits hugs thanks to Barney’s previously mentioned hobby, and with the exception of a few party nights in college gone awry, not even my love for David involves vomit hugs.
A level of love that makes you hug someone dripping in their own sick at all is an astonishing thing… but a level that actually makes you WANT to do it? To willingly cradle someone as they rest their hotdog/watermelon chunky hair on your chest and you love them even more than usual? Now that is just freaking mind-blowing.
Cheesy at it sounds I imagine this is the closest we will ever get to really understanding the way God loves us.