motherhood | maa-maa

Well, it took a solid 18 months, but it finally happened. Ralph called me momma. He said it for the first time on Easter Sunday while we were playing in my parents' backyard-- a little sigh of a hi, mom. And then he plopped down on my lap like he'd been saying it for years. I replied with a hi, baby before even realizing what had happened, and then looked at my sister to ask if she had heard it, too. She had! And there was much rejoicing.

Since then he's been figuring out how to slowly include the word into everyday conversation. He sounded like a baby goat at first, very deliberately sounding out maa-maa with much concentration, and often a little finger pointed in my direction. Now that he knows what he's doing, he'll get creative with it, trying out ma-ma-ma-ma or mommymommymommymommy. It's wonderful and hilarious and really fulfilling to hear, even though the fact that it took so long for him to say it never bothered me all that much. I knew it would come. Only once did my impatience get the best of me, and I said to Ryan, "What if he can't find me? How will he call for me?" And then we both chuckled because we knew how ridiculous those questions were. Because, for starters, I am never very far away from this child. And he certainly doesn't need to be able to say momma to get my attention. One loud wail (the one that he's had 18 months to perfect) is enough to send me running to him. And that-- the fact that he hasn't needed to say it, because I am always right there, right by his side, ready to care for him-- makes me one happy momma indeed. A slightly hovering, annoying, helicopter mom? Yes, probably. But a happy one. Good enough for me.

But I mean seriously, Ralph, it's about time.

And now, in keeping with the theme, here are some pictures from Sunday. We went to our favorite beach after church, which, I guess, is turning out to be a Mother's Day tradition. (Except this time we didn't fight at all! Remember that?) The weather was gorgeous, so warm and still and slightly humid, and we spent the entire day outside. We planted some flowers, got tacos for supper, and the tree in our backyard bloomed little white blossoms. I was in heaven. Happy Mother's Day, dear ones.

over the weekend | year 26

On Sunday I turned 26 and Ralph took the best, most solid stroller nap ever. He's been doing this thing the past week or so, where he wakes up before the birds, refuses any sort of nap in his crib, and fights bedtime tooth and nail. My birthday was no exception, and our plans to work on the kitchen cupboards while Ralph napped upstairs were quickly scrapped. It was almost 3pm and, after numerous failed attempts at getting the child to just go to sleep already, we finally submitted to the truth that it wasn't going to happen. We were all tired of being in the house but it was too cold to take a long walk outside, so we strapped him in his car seat and drove to the mall.

The sweet, stubborn boy was fast asleep in less than two minutes.

Once we parked, I grabbed the stroller while Ryan unbuckled him, and we quickly transferred him from one to the other. And holy of holies, for the first time ever, he stayed asleep through the entire process. We headed toward the doors, sure that he'd wake up as soon as we made it inside. But he didn't. There he was, flat in his stroller, a small line of drool on his puffy cheek, dreaming away-- and there we were, with a baby that was finally sleeping and an entire mall to stroll through. We checked out the bar tools at Williams-Sonoma, took giant whiffs as we walked past Cinnabon, thumbed through the gardening books at Barnes and Noble, and picked one out to take home. It was like we were on a date, except better, because Ralph was there too. He was just napping quietly instead of bouncing to go faster and demanding pretzels every two minutes. The whole thing was really nice, in a surprising-parental-success sort of way.

The rest of the day was really nice too, despite the napping situation. When your birthday consists of church and coffee and flowers and Ralph chuckles and gardening gifts from your family and book stores with your sweetheart and a giant piece of cake, you can't really complain.

ralph robert at 15 months

I think I've been a mother long enough now to understand that there's a certain sort of ebb and flow when it comes to a little baby's life. There are the hard times-- the phases of teething, or growth spurts, or nap strikes, or mysterious low-grade fevers and general fussiness. The times where life feels frustrating and confusing and the days are long for both momma and baby.

In between those tricky few weeks are these wonderful sweet spots. Happy days. Easy nights. Everything clicks.

And my friends, we are in the middle of a very long, very marvelous sweet spot. Right at this very moment, Ralph and his toddlerness are everything wonderful there is and ever could be in the world.

Ralph at 15 months has a tiny voice and a glorious lisp. He still can only say a handful of words very clearly, but he talks non-stop in a language all his own, and is surely telling me all sorts of very important things when he speaks, often with his pointer finger wagging in the air for emphasis. He takes two naps a day, and when I open the door to get him when he wakes up, he makes sure to hand me his blanket first. Only when the blanket is draped over my shoulder will he lift his arms to be picked up, and then he buries his head into it and pats my back with his chubby hand, happy to be awake again.

We're still nursing a few times a day-- always before bed or naps, and always first thing in the morning. And pretty much whenever he feels like it during the day. It's become a bit of a habit and source of comfort for him. His pediatrician suggested weaning him soon, before he gets pushy about it, but it's already too late for that. He loves it, and I love providing that little bit of comfort and warmth for him. We're in no rush.

Right now Ralph's favorite foods are blueberries, pineapple, pears, toast, and pretzels. He will not choke down an avocado if you paid him in a billion packs of fruit snacks. His favorite toys are not toys, but kitchen utensils. My salad spinner and tea kettle are getting a lot of action these days, and I usually have to wash my pots and pans again before using them because they've been dragged around the house all day long.

Ralph loves episodes of Baby Einstein and Thomas and Friends, but only during the music parts. He leaves a trail of cheerios wherever he goes. He can fold his hands to pray, and tries to say thank you ("ttthhh!") Some of his favorite songs are I am Jesus' Little Lamb, La La Lu from Lady and the Tramp, and the good morning song I sing when he wakes up, the one I remember my Grandma singing to me. I'm also pretty sure he loves every Katy Perry song he's ever heard.

He's a funny little guy, and has perfected a loud fake laugh. If your attention is not completely focused on him when he's performing that fake laugh, he'll keep laughing and get his face as close to yours as possible until you acknowledge it. He loves music and will sing to himself all day long. I've seen him pretending to play a horn with both an empty cardboard tube and my watering can. He loves to kick balls and stack things and run around the dining room table. He loves trains and his bath and when Ryan comes home from work. Changing his diaper is like wrestling a piglet. His fluffy hair smells like honey and curls up at the slightest bit of moisture.

He is such a little buddy. I want him to stay this way forever. He won't, of course, which is why I have to write it all down now.

ralph turns one

We celebrated Ralph's first birthday on Tuesday with a banana muffin, brunch at Blue's Egg, a trip to the zoo, presents, two baths, cake, and a little birthday dinner with my sister and her family. Ralph got so many sweet gifts and cards and phone calls and messages. There was a lot of love going on the whole day long. Ralph took it all in very seriously and curiously, like he knew something was up, and by the end of the day we were all wiped out. Birthdays can take the tuck out of you, that's for sure.

If you're interested in seeing Ralph destroy his cake and wave to some fishies at the zoo, I made a little video of the day. It took me nearly two nights to make, and I almost gave up, but now that I have the hang of how to do it, I might make 14,939 more.

Happy birthday to you, little Ralphie. We love you so!

ralph's first story

Ralph Robert Markgraf was born at 5:36 on a Monday morning.

The night before, Ryan and I were watching Sunday night football and eating a pizza. We had waited all weekend for a baby to show. We nested, we went out for lunch, we cleaned, we went to church, we took a nap, and we were convinced a baby was never going to show up, ever. It was somewhere after my third slice of pizza when pop! With a strong kicking sort of feeling, my water broke right there on the couch. I stood up, waddled up the stairs, saying something to Ryan about my water breaking? and made it to the bathroom. With shaking hands I called the doctor, who told us to head to the hospital as soon as we could. I had my first contraction in the car.

For some reason it took three different nurses to determine that I was actually in labor. By the time we made it into the delivery room, we were at least two hours into the process. Ryan turned on the TV (more football) and I was perched on a bed in a hospital gown, texting my parents and sisters things like this ain't so bad. 

Two hours later the TV was off, and there was nothing but the sound of beeps and deep breaths. Deep breaths, deep breaths, deep breaths.

Right around the time I was sure I needed to vomit or get an epidural, something shifted and changed, and I knew I needed to push. It was 2am. Bed sheets were changed, lights were adjusted, there was a lot of bustling about, and I thought, this is it!

Whenever I pictured this part of Ralph's birth in my head, I saw it much like how TV and the movies portray a delivery. Bright lights, lots of shouting, lots of coaching and cheering. When it actually happened, the lights were dim, there wasn't much noise coming from me other than breathing and the occasional, "ice chips, please." I didn't have energy to waste on anything else. My doctor showed up halfway through the pushing, and instead of giving any sort of direction, he patiently sat at the foot of the bed with his arms and legs crossed, like he was watching a football game. It was all up to me, and I knew it.

Three and a half exhausting hours later, it was over. The first sound I ever heard from my baby was a tiny, "Achoo!" The doctor said, "He sneezed!" And I said, "He sneezed! Oh Ralphie!" And then he was placed in my arms, red and wrinkly and quiet, with dark eyes looking up at me. The most beautiful baby boy I had ever seen.

A little while later, my nurse told me I could shower if I felt like it. I didn't, really, but thought I might be glad to get that part over with. I hoisted myself off the bed and shuffled into the bathroom just off the delivery room. As soon as I stepped into the shower I knew it was a bad idea. The walls turned black and closed in around my eyes. Everything was swirling. I was about to faint, and I called out to Ryan. But instead of Ryan, the nurse's arms took hold of me, and somehow managed to get me out of the shower and in a seated position. After a minute or two, I had pulled myself together. A few nurses got me into some dry blankets and a wheel chair, and wheeled me back into the room. I turned to Ryan, who was walking around with Ralph in his arms, and said, "I almost fainted. Didn't you hear me calling you?" He looked back at me with stars in his eyes and with a sigh, said, "Hm?" completely oblivious to what had just happened not even 10 feet away.

That was the moment I knew everything had changed. It wasn't just the two of us anymore. It was Ryan and me, with this tiny little wonder named Ralph in the middle. That was the moment I realized we had just become a family. Nothing on earth has been quite so grand and terrifying and wonderful as that feeling ever since.

happy birthday to you

A few weeks ago my sister told me that my nephews still talk about the baby I lost. She said one night before bed they asked her if I'm still sad. They wondered if she was still little in heaven, or if she was big.

And oh, my heart.

It's been two years and my life now is so different from the one I had then, when my first pregnancy ended and my little baby died. I have another baby to think about and take care of now, and there isn't as much space in my mind to fill up thinking about my little girl all day. Or even every day. That thought alone makes me feel so sad. I can't help but feel some guilt over it. What kind of mother doesn't think about her child daily? Even one that's not here on earth anymore?

But no. I'm thankful for that. I'm thankful for the passing of time, and I'm thankful that God is giving me exactly what I prayed so hard for-- a little bit of comfort and a little bit of peace. It keeps getting easier.

There are times when I look at Ralphie and wonder if he looks like what she would have looked like. There are times when I hear of another woman going through the shock and sadness of losing a baby. Those are the times my heart breaks all over again. I'm able to mend it back together pretty quickly, but it breaks all the same. And I'm glad for that too. It's good to remember her, even when it hurts.

Of course, it's this time of year that I remember her more often. She was born on a sunny fall day, and the trees that lined the street where we lived turned a brilliant shade of yellow the week we lost her. Those yellow leaves remind me of her so much.

So I baked you a cake, little baby. Happy birthday to you.

. . .

There are a few more posts about miscarriage/stillbirth on the blog if you're interested in reading them: her birth story here, and the post I wrote last year on this day, here.