Isaiah Ralphal

I feel like every time I start to talk about my son, a million clichés come out of my mouth. What they tell you about motherhood, especially the stuff they tell you about mothers and sons…it’s all true. It’s like you literally give birth to your heart…too graphic? Well, as we’ve all heard, having a child is like having your heart running around out of your body. Being Isaiah’s mommy has been one of my biggest blessings and there are no words that can effectively describe the love I have for him. That being said, you know I’m going to try! Being his mama is in one word- overwhelming. Let me elaborate…

Today you’re having happy hour with her, the mommy.

I never knew fear until I became (step) mommy.  I never knew overwhelming fear until I became a mommy. Not because there is any difference in my love for Taylah and Isaiah (more on that in a later blog), but because I’ve had moments of being helplessly and utterly terrified with Isaiah. I’ll never forget the first time I woke up to his seizing body by my side, knowing in the dark room in the dead of night  instinctively that he was having a seizure while simultaneously grabbing my phone, turning on the lights, stripping off his clothes, waking up Tristan and dialing 9-1-1. I didn’t even have the words for prayers; I just kept repeating “I love you. I love you. Mommy and Daddy are right here. We love you,” over and over again. I knew that God knew my prayers. I knew that God didn’t need the words because he knew my heart. I’ll never forget looking at my husband and seeing, for the first time, fear. I’ll never forget the way Isaiah moaned after his seizure, exhausted, and how haunting it felt to be singing a lullaby as I rocked my child to the sounds of an ambulance on its way and his moans. Isaiah, baby, you’ve taught me overwhelming fear. Not because you’re the scary monster you pretend to be with your sister, but because my love for you will always be my ultimate vulnerability.  

I never knew my own strength until I became his mommy. My family’s well-being is my number one priority and if they’re good, I’m good.  Stress from work, eh. Stress from school, eh. Stress from money, eh.  As long as when I walk through the door, my healthy kids run to hug me and my husband greets me with his handsome smile and loving kiss, everything else is relative.  I fully admit I sometimes crumble in defeat, like after I nearly had a panic attack because baby boy choked on something for like two seconds about a week after his first seizure. I went in the other room once I knew he was fine and completely broke down. T came in and I just looked at him and shrugged. I didn’t have to explain, he already knew exactly how I was feeling (see vulnerability above). Even in those moments of overwhelming fear, my love for my son has given me strength. Through the pokes, the tests, the fevers, the ambulance rides, the frustrated cries of not being able to do something sissy can do, the loud vacuum and hair dryer, the scary dinosaur book, the strangers that touch his hair (don’t do it…I will give you the fiercest mom look you’ve ever seen in your life)…I have been his safe place. I have been his strength. The irony is that he is why I am strong. When I look at him, there is nothing I can’t do. When Isaiah was born, my responsibility for him and his well-being inspired me to always be my best self. If I’m going to tell him that he can achieve anything by working hard and believing in himself, then I need to show him that myself. If I want him to know that he can get through anything, then you better believe that I’m going to get through anything thrown at me. If I want him to have faith in God and love himself, than I will trust in God and love myself. If I want him to be courageous enough to take on the world, than I better admit when I’m nervous and show him that it doesn’t have to stop us. Isaiah, baby, you’ve taught me to be strong. Not because I can protect you from the roaring vacuum and carry you for hours in heels, but because my love for you is more powerful than anything this world can throw at us.

The joy I feel when I am with my family is overwhelming. From the first moment I heard his heartbeat, I felt joy. I felt it when I got the butterflies that later turned into hard, strong kicks from inside my belly. I felt it every time he got hiccups and every time he responded to his daddy’s voice. I felt it when I placed him on my chest and heard his first cries. I felt it when I saw his daddy holding him and give him his first kiss. I felt it when he immediately opened his mouth to talk to his grandma and I felt it when he wouldn’t stop staring at his sissy. I felt it when he would fall asleep to my horrendous rendition of every R&B and country song I could think of. I felt it when he nuzzled into my neck and with each sporadic limb flail and coo. I felt it when he began to reach out for me and when he started saying ‘mama’ much earlier than they said he would. I felt it when he started to giggle and, especially, when lala was eliciting the laughs. I felt it when he first demonstrated compassion and with each healing hug and kiss he has given ever since. I felt it when he said his first words (gank goo/thank you) and I feel it each time he still insists on calling his shoes ‘gagas’ even if he definitely knows they’re called shoes. I feel it when he asks for cuddles and each time he holds my ear to fall asleep. I feel it when he copies his daddy and every time he reaches for his hand to hold. I feel it when he does his tough walk and his cool walk and, especially, his dancing walk. I feel it when every time someone has their phone out and he poses. I feel it when he insists it’s “I TURN” and returns his best version of the mom look….which is eerily accurate because he has my eyes…another thing that gives me overwhelming joy.  I feel it when I see his eyes light up to the mention of his “boppa” and that he runs to his uncles with his own sense of overwhelming joy. I feel it when he asks me if my meals are “good?” and holds his fork in one hand as he eats with his other. I feel it when he brings me books to read and laughs as I speed read because he likes turning pages and pictures more than stories these days. I feel it when he tells me “I, too” (his version of I love you taken from “I love you, too”) and when he says “nigh nigh lala”. I feel it when he gets his shoes and tells his dad “bye bye” when we’re all about to run errands because he wants it to be just mommy and zaybaby time. I feel it when he gives me kisses when I leave for work and his “hiii mama” over and over again when I call on my breaks. I feel it every day. I feel it all day. Isaiah, baby, you’ve taught me joy. Not because we’ve done everything right and every moment is easy, no, not because there are no dark moments, but because even in those dark moments, I have your light.

I feel eternally grateful to be his mommy and I can’t believe the lessons he’s taught me in just two years. Every part of my life is richer and deeper, yet every part of my life is lighter and sweeter. Motherhood is a crazy thing. It’s absolutely everything it’s cracked up to be, and more. My love for him is overwhelming. Isaiah, baby, you’ve taught me to love. Not because I didn’t love your daddy and sissy as much before you and not because I don’t love them just as overwhelmingly as I love you, but because you made me a mommy. I became your mommy on August 11^th at 3:35pm after a “textbook” pregnancy and labor (thank you), though I really believe I became your mommy 39 weeks before that. I always knew I would be a mother. Surprisingly, I also always knew I would love a child that was not biologically mine as my own (though I always thought it would be through adoption).What I didn’t know is what that would REALLY feel like. It feels overwhelming- in every sense of the word.

Happy 2^nd Birthday, Isaiah Ralphal. I will love you forever.