(Of course, "all my heart" also spawned one of Jeff and Lily's most memorable toddler debates, catalyzed by Lily's assertion that she "owns" Daddy's heart, and, therefore, she can love him with "all my two hearts." But I digress.)
"All my heart" was a familiar phrase by late last spring, one that was perhaps in danger of becoming trite--even to us. But then the toddler tantrums began in earnest, the frustration set in, and the exhaustion often led me to wrestle mightily with feelings of anger. When I'd put Lily in a timeout, only to have her endlessly whine at the door; when I'd ask her to choose her clothes and get dressed, only to have her throw tops and pants around the room; when I'd try to cook dinner while feeding the cats and asking Lily to clean up, only to have her start wailing that I wasn't reading a story--well, sometimes, we would both dissolve in heaps of tears on the floor.
And those were the good days--when the exhaustion ended in tears. On others, it ended with me raising my voice, telling Lily that I needed to walk away or that she needed to sit by herself while I held her door shut and she pounded on the other side. Somewhere in the middle of one of those episodes, sunk on the floor outside her room, tears streaming down my face, I suddenly put something together: I still loved Lily with all my heart.
Of course I did--this isn't new news to Jeff or my parents or my best friends or any of you reading this blog. But it felt remarkably "new" to me--to discover that, even in a fit of intense frustration or extreme exhaustion, my heart was still full of nothing but love. And in that moment, I needed to tell Lily that. The conversation went something like this:
Me: Lily? (pounding on door stops)
Lily: (tearfully snuffling) Yes?
Me: I'm going to come in.
So I gave her time to back away from the door, picked her up in my arms, and carried her to the rocker in the corner of her room--the rocker that's been there since day one, that's absorbed so many emotions from all three of us. I sat her on my lap, her damp face facing me, and wrapped my arms around her waist.
Me: Lily, you know I love you with all my heart?
Lily: Yes.
Me: And you know my heart never changes? Even when you're having trouble being a good listener or when you're fighting with me or Daddy. Even when you get a timeout or can't have an extra story before bed. I always love you with all my heart. My heart never ever changes.
Lily: Heart never ever changes?
Me: Never ever.
Lily: Heart never changes?
Me: Heart never changes.
And with that, my daughter broke out in a wide smile, threw her arms around my neck and her head against my chest, and whispered quietly, "Me too, Mama. My heart never changes."
All these months later, it's still the last thing we say to each other. I wonder what her teachers think as she races down the hill to school, then stops at the bottom to call back, "Daddy! Heart never changes!" I relish hearing her voice follow me down the stairs after a give her a quick hug before going for my run: "Heart never changes!" I often need the reminder as we come out the other side of a storm of tear-filled tantrums: "Heart never changes!"
Because it doesn't, my sweet girl. And it won't. Never ever.
Heart never ever changes.
