My Baby Beluga
By Colleen Montague
When I discovered Raffi would be in concert a mere thirty minutes from my home, I jumped at the chance to see him. I was raised on a healthy portion of his children’s music growing up and it has been my intention to give the same gift to my kids. I was weeks into a rough postpartum journey after my second child, but I knew I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to take Ethan, my three-year-old son, to his first concert that was also my childhood music idol. Most importantly, an opportunity to hear him sing ‘Baby Beluga’, my favorite of his songs, in person would be a dream come true. It would surely be a bucket-list kind of experience.
On that lovely May afternoon, we climbed the theatre steps to the nosebleed section and took our seats. The first half of the concert was perfection and lived up to the hype I had dreamed it to be. His songs sounded just as they had all those years ago, his voice a time capsule of my childhood. As my mouth reflexively moved along to the songs, my eyes settled on Ethan. Equally enchanted by the music, he was dancing in the aisle.
My newborn, Bridgette, slept soundly in her wrap securely attached to my body during most of it but began to stir towards the end. Never wanting to be an inconvenience to anyone, I didn’t want her impending cries to interrupt anyone’s enjoyment. Her colic nature was jarring for me and that, coupled with severe sleep deprivation, had me on pins and needles. I wagered I could leave Ethan with my husband, slip out to feed and change her quickly and return before missing too much. I did so and soon returned to my seat, thrilled to have diverted a potential crisis. I looked hopefully at my husband but knew instantly upon seeing his expression what had occurred in my absence.
“He sang it?” I asked, hoping beyond hope that he hadn’t yet.
My husband nodded with sadness in his eyes and gently mouthed, “I’m sorry”.
I’m generally a pretty stoic person by nature, but this simple disappointment was my undoing. I began to cry. Tears were streaming down my face, blurring my vision, sending my sight into a haze that mirrored my current state of mind since welcoming our daughter. I can’t remember the rest of the show, but it ended fairly soon after my return. I then metaphorically zipped myself back up so as not to make a spectacle and began the long descent down the stairs. I stepped back into the sunlight of the day even though a dark cloud was above my head, a constant companion in the months to come.
Life continued in this manner for a while. Sleep did not come easily to Bridgette, which left me in a dark place as the sleep deprivation continued to creep in and consume my spirit. I felt that I was always letting someone down, most often my son Ethan, because Bridgette ensured her needs were met. Whenever someone else would hold her, including her own father, she would lose her mind. So, it was me, always me. Missed and interrupted moments like the Raffi concert continued to occur throughout her first year of life, long after even the colic had subsided.
Expectations and Assumptions. I walked into the Raffi concert expecting to hear that song and assumed the event would go perfectly. I similarly entered motherhood with my own set of expectations and assumptions. So many disappointments have been born from those, and each time either of those fell through, it was a hard landing.
Two months in and our first time away from the kids since Bridgette’s arrival, we attempted to celebrate our anniversary with a dinner outing. An hour into our break, we received a desperate phone call from my parents, pleading us to return home because “she is just not having it” as she hadn’t stopped crying that past hour.
Three months in, I stood and bounced Bridgette for over an hour at a friend’s wedding reception, trying to keep her from crying and disrupting the beautiful affair. I eventually snapped and barked at my husband that we needed to go home, which included leaving my full plate of (cold) dinner on the table. My brewing bitterness was beginning to simmer.
Seven months in, fevers and a double ear infection on her first Thanksgiving led to me staying home with both kids while my husband went off to make appearances on our behalf. What I had assumed would be an opportunity to connect with family and all experience Bridgette’s first holiday had now morphed into most likely an evening of loneliness.
On that Thanksgiving day, we realized we needed to pivot from our original plans. My husband asked if I was really ok being the one who missed Thanksgiving to stay home with her. For whatever reason ‘Baby Beluga’ was my reflexive and candid response, and as the words left my mouth, it suddenly all just fit. Here was another disappointment, an expected experience that wouldn’t go according to plan. Just like missing Raffi singing ‘Baby Beluga’. But this time, instead of letting the bitterness boil over, a shift occurred, giving me a fresh vantage point. I realized this is parenthood: there are things we will miss out on because we’re tending to the greater needs of our young. I am not a victim of circumstance and I have control in how I choose to respond to these circumstances. This simple reframe in my thought process created a meaningful impact.
After that day, this became the mantra in our home: a shrug of the shoulders and a “Baby Beluga” from the lips. Missing a good portion of Christmas dinner with extended family as I kept company my struggling potty-training toddler in the bathroom. Baby Beluga. I started to identify motherly obligations or missed moments by the code word ‘Baby Beluga’ to my husband. And myself. My way to say ‘it’s ok and I’m ok’.
Identifying moments in this manner eased the tension when these situations would arise and sometimes lessened the sting from what we were missing. Instead, that sting was replaced by a shift in attitude: yes, this is happening and I get to do this because I am their mother. Ultimately, I wouldn’t have it any other way. Continually choosing to reframe my experiences left little room for that resentment to simmer. Instead, it created a space for more enjoyment in my role as their mother and confirmation that I was where I truly needed to be, doing what I am meant to do.
Acknowledging Baby Beluga moments also led to some welcomed freedoms. Bridgette’s incessant wails during a multi-family playdate that I was hosting led me to realize it simply wasn’t the season to be hosting anyone. Baby Beluga. I have offered a pass to my kids from attending any future weddings that I actually hope to enjoy. Baby Beluga. (I’ll reinstate their invites when they’re a little older.)
In this process, I’ve learned that while we don’t choose our Baby Beluga moments, we can have some control in how we navigate through them. That day at the concert, we were literally in the last row of the uppermost part of the theater. No one would have been bothered by Bridgette had I just fed her right there. No one would have even known what I was doing. I could have easily met both her needs and mine at that moment. Hindsight is clearly 20/20, not to mention a full night’s rest always helps too.
After we left the concert that day, my husband told me he recorded Raffi when he sang ‘Baby Beluga’ so that I could watch it later. To this day, I still haven’t watched it. At first, I didn’t want to see it, still raw and bitter from that experience. But now, with a little distance and clarity, I’d rather wait until (fingers crossed) another opportunity presents itself. To hear that song in person next time will mean so much more to me than it ever could have the first time. The phrase that has become my mantra for motherhood.
Guest essay written by Colleen Montague. Colleen is a wife and mama to two littles. She likes the rain, but loves coffee even more. Curled up on the couch reading a book is her happy place. She is also a licensed Marriage and Family Therapist living in California.
Photo by Lottie Caiella.