I Must Begin with Apologies

The New Mother: Regrets and Remembrances

The baby just turned five months old.

He is generous with gummy smiles and plays for hours with his feet. As he’s begun napping longer stretches, I feel as if I can finally stop obsessing over him and start writing again.

That I *must* start writing again.

Today is also Matatirtha Aunsi in Nepal, a day to appreciate mothers — an auspicious omen to begin.

There is so, so much to say — about our tumultuous journey to parenthood, a supremely eventful pregnancy that spanned two continents, and a remarkable postpartum experience (that had also spanned two continents by ten weeks).

But if I am to write of motherhood, I must begin with apologies to mothers.

My first apology is to a colleague. We shared a room, and a dislike for air conditioning during summers.

I crave my milk cold and my spaces warm.

So as the entire office engulfed itself in ice-cold air, our room remained blazing hot, courtesy of sunlight that poured in all day from overflowing windows.

And then my colleague became pregnant. And as she stepped into the third trimester and her temperature elevated, she started switching on the air…