Category Archives: On My Mind

On My Mind

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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.

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 My Mind

Asked and Answered

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A few weeks ago, after years without contact, I wished an old friend a happy birthday via text message. She replied simply to thank me and wish me well.

I needed a moment to get over my disappointment. And then I needed a moment to ask myself why I was disappointed in the first place.

Several months ago, one of my oldest friends got in touch to ask how I was doing as a new mother. We hadn’t spoken in a very long time but our parents are friends, updating each of us about the other. She caught me at a moment when I was feeling a little lost, a little isolated. Her touching message prompted some writing back and forth, and we have had further contact since.

Not long after writing my old friend on her birthday, I considered reaching out to an ex-boyfriend. And instead of doing that, I asked myself why I wanted to.

Because I haven’t wished him a happy birthday in over a decade. Because I don’t know anything about him anymore. Because nothing happening in his life is any of my business, and vice versa.

I think I wanted to gloat a little bit. To have an opportunity to share the news of my beautiful daughter, to mention my partner, to let him know that I, too, had turned out just fine.

Pride goeth before a fall, they say, and I kept the birthday wishes, disguised as an excuse to show off, to myself.

I had reached out to one old friend in the hopes of rekindling contact, and her answer was a kind rejection. It was in my hands to ask and hers to answer, and she is as entitled to her answer as I am to asking the question. Without the question, one would not have the answer, and the least I can do is honour what I’ve been told.

Because that’s the thing about human connection: it really has to go both ways.