Yesterday, after a fight with M that included her crying a lot and telling me she hated me, I went to her room to talk to her after she had calmed down.
“Mommy, I’m sorry I said I hate you.”
“Thank you for saying you’re sorry, baby. You know, we can get mad at each other and fight and still love each other.”
“I know, Mommy. I’m sorry, because I love you really big.”
“I love you too, baby.”
“Mommy, I know what ‘love’ is.”
“What is it, sweetheart?”
“It’s when you pick me up and carry me so we can hug each other really tight with my face against your neck, and you rub my back.”
“That’s exactly what love is.”
And then I picked her up and carried her, while she put her face against my neck and I rubbed her back (my heart may have also melted).
For the record, ‘love,’ according to Z, is when he wakes up in the morning and I give him a back massage.