Season for Teagan

I’ve been saying “sorry” a lot these days.

Me directing Teagan to stay away from the power-up toadstool. She did not listen.

I’m sorry for missing the girls night out dinner. I’m sorry for not being able to help paint our new studio for our group. I’m sorry I’m not able to perform with our group in the President’s House (big deal). I’m sorry for not being able to travel to Bali with my usual jungle group.

You see, I have a newborn slash giant baby. Teagan is six weeks old but is the size of a toddler. If you saw her, you would know that I’m not even exaggerating. I say sorry in relation to her a lot too. I’m sorry for taking too long to change her diaper. I’m sorry I made the room too cold that her got congested. I’m sorry I’ve been overfeeding her. I’m sorry that my breast milk is not enough that we have to top-up with formula. I’m sorry I made too much noise when I yelled when she smiled at me for the first time.

And really, I think I’ve had up to here with the apologies. I’m over feeling guilty – though I know I’ll feel guilty for years to come – for something that I have been hoping for and working towards for quite some time.

I am what is called in clinical circles, a “geriatric” mom. Meaning I am older than the mean age for moms and I needed special interventions to get pregnant. We did IVF and luckily got pregnant the first time. I had an uncomplicated pregnancy and only a slightly complicated delivery. I keep on waiting for the other shoe to drop but so far, so good.

That’s why I have the additional guilt of having it easier than other moms despite our circumstance. That’s also why I think I should be doing more, being better than I am doing now.

Inevitably, I’ve been on the mom forums and social media and benchmarking myself not only versus other moms but also against my friends who seem to be living their best lives going out, having picnics, traveling to Croatia (is EVERYONE going to Croatia these days), watching concerts, and generally having a fun time. I think “I used to have that life” and feel immediately guilty for thinking so when I have this beautiful giant baby dressed like a monster cooing in my tired arms (really, she has a monster onesie, it’s my current fave).

It’s a lose-lose situation really. I feel guilt for not being 100% here with my baby, but at the same time feel guilt for not being 100% there for the fabulous, independent life I used to live. But I read somewhere that these are just seasons in life. I am currently in the season of having a newborn. Last year I was in the season of trying to conceive a baby. The year before that I was in the season of traveling with my new husband and enjoying the life of a newlywed. The year before that was the season of gallivanting around the world with my awesome friends, and so on.

The one constant thing is that seasons change. And one thing I know, just judging how quickly Teagan has been outgrowing her other, non-monster onesies, I know that this season of chubby cuddly and carry-able newborn will end soon. And soon enough, I will be looking back, a year from now saying, this was the season of Teagan.

This was the season for late nights listening to every grunt-grunt that ended up as a big fart. This was the season of her big curious eyes following my voice whenever I walked around the room. This was the season of her long legs and feet kicking the toadstool on her activity mat – hence causing her to grow way too fast. This was the season of milk barfs but also the season of happy milk drunk smiley sleep faces. This was the season of discovery when me and her dad would figure out the new language of her sounds – which one was a poop grunt, which was a sleepy whimper, which was a hungry bleat, and which was a conversational coo. This was the season of scary skin conditions and worrisome scratches and of “oh-it’s-nothings” from more experienced parents. This was the season of another kind of “me-toos” that indicated eyebags, unwashed hair, refluxy babies, low breast milk supply, meddling parents, and unsympathetic pediatricians.

Ultimately, this will have been the season that passed too quickly. The season that I will wish would come back again.

And so, I resolve to maybe stop saying “I’m sorry” less and start enjoying this season more. The last thing I want to have to say is I’m sorry I didn’t fully immerse myself in the season of Teagan when it comes to reminiscing time next year.