On My Mind

Fade

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An elderly couple flagged me down today when I was out with my baby in the stroller.

“I think the children left,” the woman told me, agitated. “I tried to follow them but I couldn’t.” She indicated her cane. “A boy and a girl, I think.”

“Where should they be?” I asked.

She gestured across the street to the courtyard behind a row of houses. I offered to go look.

The man nodded vigorously.

In the minute it took me to assert that there were no children in the courtyard, another woman emerged from the house behind the couple. I surmised correctly that she was trying to coax the elderly woman, dressed like her husband in just a t-shirt, back inside.

“I didn’t see the children,” I told her. “I’m sure they’re fine.”

“See?” said the other woman. “Everything is fine. Now let’s go back inside.”

But the elderly woman wasn’t done yet. “And another thing. Your little girl was walking before,” she said.

“No,” I assured her, “she was right here in the stroller. There’s a little girl on a bicycle over there,” I added, indicating, “but my baby was right here.”

“Are you sure?” the woman pressed.

“Yes,” I said firmly, glancing at the man. He continued to nod, eyes large and locked on mine.

“And the children?”

“I’m sure they’re fine.”

“Yes,” added the other woman. “They’re fine. Now let’s go back inside. There, that’s right.”

The elderly woman turned away, satisfied.

“Thank you,” the man said. “My wife has dementia. Terrible.” His voice broke.

“I understand,” I said. “It’s a terrible disease.”

He nodded, turned to follow his wife inside, leading with his cane.

My eyes were damp as I continued down the street, baby in the stroller where she belonged.

Parenting

Finding a Group

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I did not attend a prenatal class with my partner in order to find friends. I shrugged when the midwife leading the class mentioned that she had had a group of families twenty years ago that still gets together. However, I accepted when two women asked to exchange numbers at our final session, and agreed to be added to a Whatsapp group when, weeks later, a handful of us with brand new babies ran into each other during a Family Day event in town.

As it turned out, several of us women with babies attended the same pelvic floor gymnastics class, a standard procedure here. Another lived across the street from where the course took place, and initiated our first group meet-up.

Since then, I’ve met up with the group and individuals not infrequently. Like everyone said it would be, it’s nice having people around experiencing the same things. And as one of the women pointed out, we have a comfortable group. We talk about our babies without comparing. We delight in what the others are doing and encourage our babies accordingly. We support one another in the things we find difficult, either commiserating (all of our babies have decided that sleeping at night is optional) or offering a listening ear (all of us have a bit to say about equity in childrearing). When someone wants a suggestion, they ask for it. Otherwise, no need to offer unsolicited advice.

One of the women mentioned that this is in contrast to several of her friends with babies. She spends less time with them now, she said, because she walks away feeling dejected and demoralized. Everything is easy for the others and there is no space for what she has to share.

This is the opposite of reassurance, and no one needs a group like that.

But I have come around to the idea that everyone needs a group. New parenthood can be very isolating and it’s important to get out. It’s important to have people who get it. That being said, I have also been spending a lot of time with friends who don’t have babies. It is refreshing to talk about something else, and good to realize a different aspect myself.

If you’re a new parent and feeling alone, drop me a comment or a message; we’ll chat. I’m here for you. And if you’re a new parent and not feeling alone, drop me a comment or a message; we’ll chat. Adults need friends, too.

On My Mind

Guys, I’m back!

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Leute, ich bin wieder da, read my Whatsapp message to a group of climbing friends.

Not too long thereafter, I dusted the chalk from hands sporting four open blisters (rookie mistake: continuing to climb when the baby-soft skin first begins to rub away), went through my stretch routine, and packed up to go home.

I didn’t, but I could have skipped down the street. I could have grinned at every passing individual. My heart felt carefree. My body felt used, tired, worked. I took a deep breath and savoured it.

The last time I was in the climbing hall was on my birthday. I was at the beginning of my eighth month of pregnancy and had spent the previous months waiting for the moment when it would be time to stop. I’d felt a little too much pressure on my lower belly, a little too much tension on stretched muscles that I wasn’t supposed to engage. Objectively, the top rope route had been easy and boulders before it even easier, but I owed it to my baby and to myself to answer honestly when my belayer asked if climbing felt okay. “Actually no,” I replied then. “I think I’m done.”

And now, with my baby six months old, I was ready to come back. In some ways, ripping open my hands in exuberance was a reminder of what it means to return to a sport after so much time away: Go slowly.

While pregnant, my joints softened and pelvic floor stretched; my pretty darn good abs disappeared; my belly stretched out and knitted back together. My hands are no longer calloused. My body is not what it was.

Go slowly.

Early on in my pregnancy, I stopped climbing three days a week. And then I stopped climbing twice a week. I was content when I stopped climbing altogether, and surprised at the fury that took hold when I couldn’t start again once the baby was born. Everything that had been was no longer, and I didn’t recognize myself in the life that had begun. It took time until I stopped looking for who I had been and lamenting what I used to do. And then I found who I had become.

As a new mother, I am living in the very real luxury of a time that will not come again. I am home with my daughter, and this means that I can focus on her without having to worry about balancing work just yet. When I have the time, I can attend to myself.

Now that she is getting older, now that my body is fitter than it was, I’m back at the climbing hall, this time with a new appreciation for the time spent independently, in physical exertion, and as part of a community that knows a very different version of me. I’m a tiny girl’s mama, and a climber, too.

On loving, learning, and living