Choosing Baby Over NZ

"I love Spring! Can you see how happy I am? Don't I look happier than I have all Winter? It's the Spring, I tell you", I squealed. That was two years ago.

When I said those words, I had no clue that my life was about to change. Scratch that. The clues were all there, heaps of them buzzing in front of my eyes every day. My life was about to take an overhaul but I had failed to recognize the signs. I complained about ageing and took a little pleasure in the weight loss. If someone had said to me that I may be having a baby, I would have laughed (maybe they did and maybe I did).

The only change I foresaw in my life was a career change. I could totally see THAT happening. New job. Excitement. More money. I had a list of places on my place-to-visit board that I could see being ticked off. My biggest question was whether I could afford that big Europe trip, especially as I was travelling to New Zealand the following February. Maybe I could swing it because DH would find a job by then. Surely, with his high IQ and superior skill-sets, he wasn't going to be without a job for long!

Five days after I said those words, I was sitting at the GP's office. I won't go into the details of that argument but it could be roughly summarized like this:

You're pregnant.

No, I'm not!

A blood test should confirm it.

A week later, he was writing me a referral to see an obstetrician. 

Ross was a funny guy. One of the first things he told me was that he offered no refunds or returns. He also informed me that RSPCA would not help me either. Then he warned me not to get overweight or I'd be hard-pressed to lose the extra weight. Truer words have never been spoken.

Fast-forward to the following February. New Zealand was the last thing on my mind, as I lay there telling the annoying mid-wife to go away. No, I did not want to sit on a ball in the shower. I just needed some sleep. Yeah, like that was happening!

Five days later, we bundled the wee little thing into the car seat, buckled her up and drove home. I kept wondering how they could trust that life in my hands. Hospitals should not be allowed to do that! There had to be some rules against it, in the interest of the baby. When we got home and realized that the car seat buckle hadn't been done up properly, I knew I was right!

In spite of the crazy year that at times dragged on and other times flew past, the New Zealand dream was still there. If I managed to keep her alive till then, we would celebrate her 1st birthday in NZ. Just us surrounded by beautiful scenery and unfamiliar faces. 

Let's just say the stars refuse to align for New Zealand to happen as yet. Maybe I should plan Europe. In the meanwhile, I continue to grapple with the changes this new lifestyle has brought for me. 

Rentals Anyone?

Is it better to rent a house or own one? It seems like a pretty straightforward question. Own one, of course! Why would anyone want to rent a house when they can own one? Well, maybe if you are like Jack Reacher from Lee Child's Reacher series, then you would rather rent a house. Reacher liked to be on the move and did not want the feeling of having roots at any one place. It sort of makes sense, come to think of it. 

So, it really comes down to what kind of a person you are and how you like to live your life. Most people like the stability of having roots while some enjoy the high of being a few feet above the ground. Usually the younger you are, the less concerned you are about having roots. As you get older, you start thinking about where you want to retire. You want a place where you can spend days doing nothing more than laying back and enjoying the quiet. Strangely, in my case, it has been the opposite. It's not that I'm terribly old but slightly older than what I need to be allowed to call myself young. 

I grew up dreaming of owning a house. I nurtured the fantasy until I bought an apartment a few years ago. It was not exactly the stuff of my dreams but I loved it. When I banked the last of my mortgage payments, I retired the dream, leaving an empty space where bricks, mortar and splotches of colour had been metamorphosing during my entire childhood. I, however, did not feel the sheer joy that accompanies dreams coming true. The burst of glitter and the background music did not quite happen. It was not that I was not happy but I did not feel the rush I expected to. Is it because I do not spend too much time there anymore? 

When my job took me overseas, I experienced a whole new world. From a developing country to a developed country, the leap was huge. It was not so much the glamour that money held but the scent of freedom that grabbed me. I travelled to as many places as I could during my first year. By the end of that year, I was smitten. This is what I wanted to do. Travel, travel and more travel. When people asked me if I was going to buy a house here, I did not quite get it. Why would I buy one when I could keep moving? I could move states or I could move countries, as my fancy took me. If I wanted to, I could just move houses because I wanted one with a better view from the balcony or had a bigger swimming pool. I could change my mind about what suburb I wanted to live in. There was so much freedom in renting a unit than there was in owning a house. The owner would worry about the registration and taxes, the renovations and insurance. All I needed was my suitcase and identity points to bunk where I wanted to. The smell of freedom had engulfed me to that extent. Jack Reacher, I feel you! 

That is not to say that I do not like the idea of roots. I am happy to be tied loosely to my roots, as long as I can keep flying high for as long as I want to. Tomorrow, I may decide to cut the chord and fly away or turn off the hot air and glide down. I will cross that bridge when I come to it. Yes, it makes sense to me now. Why would people rather rent than own? It is because it gives life the flavour that the consistency of everyday broth lacks. Did I mention it is cheaper to pay rents than make mortgage payments? It may not be so, in the long run but, not knowing what tomorrow holds, it might just be worthwhile. 

Paleo: My Attempt At The Caveman’s Diet

Diets were never my thing. I found the very idea appalling! How could someone follow a certain pattern of eating? What if I felt like eating a specific food on a certain day? I have cravings all the time. One day I feel like chicken and on another, I feel like chocolate. There may be diets that allow chicken but what about chocolate? The general idea of working with an eating schedule was never going to stick with me.

When the doctor said I needed to lose weight, to ease the pressure on my knees, I said WTF. How was I going to lose weight without working out? I could barely walk! Then, my husband said the dreaded word. DIET. I did not buy it. What diet on earth could make me lighter without exercise? There was no way in hell I was going to subject my taste buds to granola bars and oat meals day after day! The very thought of eating less started to make my stomach tingle with hunger. Diets are not my thing. He shoved a book on Paleo diet in my face and insisted I take a look.

The only thing more painful than following a diet is reading 90 pages on why I should. I grudgingly agreed to diet, without bothering to look at the book. I had to do what I had to do. Either I was going to die of starvation or I would lose enough weight to get back on my feet. If I lived, I decided, I would trash the “meal plan” and celebrate with a buffet at Max Brenner.

The first day went by without much of a hassle. It was his idea, so the husband cooked. He was trying really hard to help me stick to this diet. I missed rice but I survived. By the evening of the second day, I felt malnourished. I was starving and I was craving for real food. The husband was out when I came home from work. I threw my handbag on the floor and ran to the kitchen. I dug in the fridge and found 2 thin slices of steak from the previous week. I quickly cooked them and gorged them down as if they would disappear if I waited any longer. Then, I went looking for something sweet. Half a packet of Oreos later, I started feeling guilty. I had not even survived two full days of my diet. How was I going to last 8 weeks?

Surprisingly, that was the last day I gave in to such weakness. Once a day, I would crave to eat something but I would stick to my diet. On the odd occasion, when I felt like cheating on the diet, I would buy my husband the snack and take a bite out of it. The husband was doing his best to make the food look delectable. He decided that larger portions would help cope with my hunger. I came to acknowledge that he was a rather amazing cook. I successfully managed to get through the first week of my first attempt at ‘dieting’ without missing any particular food too much. In fact, by the end of the week I had started to enjoy it so much that I joined in the cooking. Some of the stuff we cooked was fun and everything was so easy to cook.

We never had to throw away anything we made but I wondered how long I could hold off on the cravings. The diet was primarily meat, eggs and lots of greens, with a bit of fruits and nuts. Grains and diary were a big NO. From a magazine I read recently, I found out that Paleo stood for Palaeolithic and the diet itself was based on the caveman’s diet back in the years. Apparently, this is one of the hot diets of recent times. That was encouraging. Suddenly my Paleo diet was ‘cool’.

As we cooked, we tried to understand the effects of the various flavours on the food and appreciated the different smells. We did not just watch but learned from Masterchef every evening. It was all fun but was it working? The increased portions were worrying me. I was not starved any more but was I losing weight? That was the real test. Gingerly, I stepped on the weighing machine on Day 7 of my diet. It took me a bit to realize that I actually weighed lesser. That was the fastest I had lost weight, without any workout. That clinched the deal. No matter what, I was going to stick to this diet! The husband is, obviously, very happy.

I still have a long way to go but it is not so hard anymore. Once this is done, Max Brenner awaits me. Dieting may never have been on my bucket list but I can add it on, now and mark it done. Been there done that. Woot!

Down On My Knees

Chicken pox kept me away from school for a month. I was only 6 then and I remember hating it. I'd always been a healthy kid. It felt like I was being punished for never having fallen sick and I was making up for the all earlier years in one shot. I hated missing school more than anything else.

Decades later, the chicken pox had relegated to dark corners of my mind. While I sympathized with others who fell sick or got injured, I stayed away from anything remotely requiring medical attention. How I managed it is beyond me but I took it for granted. I had abused my body with junk food, no food, erratic workouts for years and all I needed to fix myself up was 2 days in bed, recharging. It is amazing how self-healing the human body is.

Cut to 2012.

It all started with a back-ache that I ignored for as long as I could. It was just sleeping on the couch. Or maybe the bad posture at work. It was going to be fine. I just needed to stop doing those things. I would. It went on this way until I landed flat on my back, on the carpet one fine Sunday morning, unable to perform normal physical activities like getting up, sitting or standing without my back complaining. With much reluctance and driven by panic, I saw a doctor. "Weak muscles", he rued. He was happy to prescribe medicines but I brushed it off saying I wouldn't do it if I didn't have to. He wrote me a letter to get a core strength assessment by a physio and handed me a sheet detailing some stretches I could do, to strengthen the lower back muscles.

Once I started the stretches and the back was beginning to feel OK, I forgot all about the doctor and his physio recommendation. I ignored the niggly sensation in my knees for weeks and waved off the protests during my Krav Maga kicks. I continued to ignore it even after I started to feel like I was going to buckle whenever I walked. I should have at least hooked up to the internet to see if it needed attention but I didn't. I was in denial. It was going to be ok. That was until I carried a heavy bag and walked for about 3 kilometres one evening, while on holidays. Soon, the happy vacation turned into a series of stretches, ice-packs, ultrasound and I was pretty much under house-arrest.

By now I had been suffering all sorts of aches for 2 months and I was aware of my weak muscles. The least I could offer my body was a little rest. For someone who has mis-treated the body for over 30 years, it was a concept hard to grasp. Two weeks into the treatment, throwing all caution to the wind, I headed back overseas and started work. Over the next 2 weeks, I was brought down by my knees once again. It was back to square one. Ice-packs, taped knees, ultrasound, rest. The works. Serves me right for not doing the "rest" thing the first time around. Lesson learned. Right?

I'm just back from another horribly expensive physio session (that my insurance barely covers) and feeling better. All thanks to the massage, ultra-sound and knee-taping (ugh) by my Kiwi physio, who told me she had her first physio appointment at the age of 8. The restlessness that comes with feeling slightly more mobile is back. I want to be out and about, doing all the things I would normally be doing. The only thing that is stopping me from caving in, is knowing how crippled I have been over the weekend... after I had started to walk a little just the week before.

The chicken pox phase jumps to the forefront, from the dark hollows of my mind. It's like a headless villain stepping out of the shadows, in a long black cape. Yet again, is this life making me pay for the score and something years of good health I have had? It's been over 3 months since the first signs of the weak muscles appeared and started giving me grief. I can't wait to feel "normal" again!

I feel exactly like I did when I was 6 years old. I was forced to stay in the bedroom so I would not spread the germs around, only being allowed to get out if I needed to use the bathroom. Mum brought me food and water but I was kept away from the outside world. This time, I'm older and the room is a house, but the feeling is all the same. I am counting down minutes to get back to the outside world... to run and to dance... to kick some groin in Krav class... and to grab that elusive P3 patch... and do all those crazy things on my list...

Abseiling @ Kangaroo Point

I had made the poor guy wait half an hour. Yet, when he saw me, he gave me a wide smile and cheerfully said, "You made it!". People who carry such positive energy enrich your life simply by being in it for a few minutes.

By the time Marcelo Paiva was done showing me the ropes to Abseiling, I was convinced there was no way I could do it. He insisted that I should try. I would rather have pushed him off the cliff and run from there. Of course, I did not do that. Instead, I obliged. I had nothing to lose by trying, only by not. 

When the knots were tied and harnesses tightened, I was roped in. Literally! I walked slowly backwards, just as he had shown me. Instead of screaming & grabbing him in terror, I experienced a moment of knowing. There is no better way to describe it. Standing there, on the edge of the cliff and trying to lean as far back as I could, I suddenly realized that I knew how to do this. I knew that I could do it. I leaned back, lifted my feet off the edge, one by one & placed them flat on the vertical face of the rock. Once the first steps were taken, there was no looking back. I found myself concentrating on the ropes and the rocks. It was just the rock and my foot, the ropes & my palms - the rest of the world did not exist. When I landed, I was greeted warmly by another excited instructor from Riverlife. He yelled out to Marcelo and said, 'Hey, she has done it!' 

After I had done it once, I wanted to do it again. Of course, I had an hour and half in which to try as many times as I wanted. I tried looking down at one time and almost lost a foothold. My heart skipped a beat. The third time I tried a slightly different route. I tried a smoother, plainer surface of the rocks, knowing that it was not so much the foothold that mattered as it was my feet walking down the rocks as I lowered down by the rope. That was supposed to be my last attempt but I could not stop myself from going for a fourth. This time, I tried the new route and I looked down. No fear. I had conquered it. Atleast, as long as there was my own rope and a belay to support me. It felt great.

One of the best things I like about going alone anywhere is the new friends I get to make. The interesting people & conversations. The enriching experience. Marcelo told me about Capoeira - a Brazilian martial arts form - and I told him about Krav maga - the Israeli martial arts form. He is one of the instructors for capoeira. Who knows? I might end up there one day, to learn the Brazilian style too. And there's music to it, a bit of dance. I'm almost hooked.

I met a lady whose son loves Terry Pratchett and she was so excited to tell me about seeing him walk down the road during one of her overseas trips. Met a few people interested in my experience of abseiling itself. Then a few who wanted to know about rock-climbing and Riverlife. Without realizing it, I had ended up being an ad campaign for Riverlife and their abseiling, in those couple of hours. 

I found out that Kangaroo Point was a paradise for runners. There's a flight of narrow stairs, starting at the bottom of the cliff, right up to the top. I met 2 men who walk/run up & down - they try to cover over 200 steps each time. There is also a lovely park that I missed the opportunity to explore, given that daylight was rapidly diminishing. Not to mention the lovely restaurant atop the cliff with a fabulous view of the river, the Brisbane skyline and the activities at the cliff. 

Riverlife also does kayaking, night paddling, etc. If I don't go back there for rock-climbing, there are other things in store for me. If nothing else, Kangaroo Point itself has a fair bit I am yet to explore. Just when I thought I was running out of activities in Brisbane, a new part of the city presents itself. A lovely suburb. 

Incidentally, the CityCat ferries are back in service, post the floods. I did about 2 CityCat rides and 4 CityFerry trips across the river today. As if to make up for all the days that I missed? Was not intentional but hey, it happened. The new Groove Train at Eagle Street Pier is strategically located, right at the Riverside Terminal for the CityCat. I had just enough time to gulp down a pint of Tooheys Xtra Dry before I rushed off to take the boat home. It was my first time in the night. Black water below me, dark clouds above and blackness everywhere - the silhouettes of the trees that look so green during the day, the office buildings on holidays... the occasional spot of bright light, in many colours, dazzled in the dark of the night. I closed my eyes and took a mental picture.

Yes, it has been a wonderful day. 

Scaling New Heights

All of you who have fear of heights, please raise your hands. Since you cannot see me, let me tell you that my  hand is raised. It used to be worse before. I used to feel mortified at great heights. 

As part of various life experiences, I ended up in various places where the view from atop was breathtaking. I am a sucker for "views", so much so that when booking my flights I always want a window seat on the side that the flight enters the airport so I can see what it looks like down there, from up, in the aircraft. It was impossible to refuse getting to the top of places that held such awesome views. That was the first hurdle I crossed. I did not mind heights anymore. Only as long as I was within an enclosed glass tower (e.g. Eureka Towers in Melbourne) or on top of a hill (say, Mt. Coot-tha in Brisbane), where I knew I was safe. 

When I planned a trip to Sydney, a friend of mine insisted that I do the famous Bridge Climb. At the time, I was not aware of what it entailed and I let him convince me to go for it. Once I saw the bridge & suited up, it started to hit me that I might not be able to do it. As the group started the climb upwards, I felt less and less confident of being able to do it. At one point, my heart was in my mouth and I found myself thinking, "Karl was right in not doing this. One could just die from the fear". Once the moment had passed, I started to enjoy it immensely. The view all along was stunning. Watching the sunset from where we were, watching the city lights come on one by one and feeling the wind on the face made me forget that I feared heights. Since then, I've recommended the climb to everyone I've met and even managed to convince the afore-mentioned Karl to try it.

Chris Rawlinson gave me the first taste of rock-climbing when a group of 3 boys & 2 girls went to Mt.  Beerwah one weekend. I must have done less than 10m when the rocks, slippery from the light drizzle, started to alarm me. I looked down to tell Chris that I might not make it to the top and froze when I realized what a fall could do to me, from where I was. No harness, no guides, no safety measures here. Pure nature. The mountain, the hard rocks and the naked climb. Fortunately, experienced as he was, Chris guided me down the mountain. Later, watching the guys run up & back down like mountain goats, I felt a bit sheepish... I had barely done a small percentage of the climb they covered. Someday I would try this again, I decided. 

This morning, Sarat & I arrived at the Riverlife office at Kangaroo Point at 8.10AM, for a session of rock-climbing. Having done a few metres on a real mountain and considering the fact that there was an experienced guide to watch us over, I was confident I would be alright. However, that was not to be. Firstly, this was more real than I realized! This was a cliff with real rocks, just like the mountains, but worse in that it was an almost 90 degree incline. I barely made it 5m when I simply could not do anymore and had to be let down. Having a rope around my waist and a partner belaying was absolutely no help to my confidence. I could not get enough hand-holds and my shoes kept slipping. I hated it but I knew I had to give up. Standing stuck on a narrow foothold forever was not helping.

Then it was the turn of Kendra, a tourist from California, who had done some rock-climbing at an indoor gym. She had some initial trouble at the exact location that I had been stuck at but she managed to pull it off and make it to the top. Bravo! In his turn, Sarat scaled a little higher than I had but soon gave up too. I decided to give it another shot. Scrambled up, got stuck at the exact same location. The rock that I was trying to wrap my right leg and hand around was too broad for my height and I absolutely could not hoist myself up. I yelled down to Blair, our guide, that I needed a bit of help lifting up. With a little help from the belay, I conquered it and then there was no stopping anymore. I made it all the way up, just one rock short of the peak. Too excited to have gone that far, I did not even bother to attempt to go to the top, I yelled out to be brought down. I think, just knowing how I could get down using rope if I need to, with the help of the belay, had kept me going. 

I also noticed that once I gained a little more confidence, the hand-holds and foot-holds did not matter that much. As long as I was able to grip the rock for even a few seconds with my palms and shoes, I had the courage to move the body. Getting over that inhibition was the big deal. It felt good. We had paid for 2 hours of rock-climbing, so Blair asked us if we wanted to try the same climb again or another one. Sarat was done in, thanks to all the cricket from the previous day. It was scary business too, rock climbing for first timers. Kendra & I decided to try another climb, a different one. 

I let Kendra go first so I could get a mental picture of the landscape of the rock and also watch her movements. I was still a novice, I was not going to kid myself. The initial bit was hard because the rock seemed pretty smooth but she made it to the top fairly quickly. Then, it was my turn. I slipped about 4 times before I could finally start making progress. Blair offered to help with the first bit but I refused. I was sure I could do it. I took a deep breath and told myself I should not try to hurry. Go slow, go easy, this can be done. Within seconds, I was scrambling up more comfortably. There was again, another particularly uncomfortable rock but by now my body and mind co-operated better. Fear had taken a break. I gingerly placed both feet on the best foothold I could get and put both my hands on a single rock that jutted out, right above my head. I put my head down and hoisted myself up. Once that was done, the rest just happened.

One rock after another, I kept going. It felt great. I did not even believe anymore that I could not do it. I just knew that I could. I hesitated a bit at one point where a tiny stream of water wetted the rocks. I was going to look for an alternative when Kendra called out to not let the water deter me. So, I grabbed a dry part of one of the wet rocks and went on. It was a pleasure to find a flat surface at the top, where I could walk with both feet. After sticking my feet in crevices and balancing on my toes on small foot-holds, this was a great break. I wondered if I should stop because I had come up this far, it did not make a difference whether I made it to the top or not. Kendra yelled out and said to go for it. I remembered how I had not made the peak on the previous climb. I decided I was going to do this one right. So I did. 

When I looked down, my heart skipped a beat. I did not look down for long but I allowed myself another peek. I sucked in a deep breath and turned around, in preparation to get down. I called out to the belay to loosen the rope and let me down. It was exhilarating. I was right there, balancing on small foot-holds, grabbing on to bits of hard rock and looking down... feeling excitement rather than fear. I wish I had taken a moment to enjoy the view around me but that might have been a bit much to ask of a first-timer. 

I might do it again. I might do a naked climb on a real mountain or I might not. I do not know. What I do know is that I am grateful for my inane need to try everything in life and for that streak in me that would rather face the fear headlong than give up.

Bird Attack

Let me steal a few lines off a page that warns people off of magpies in Brisbane, to start off.

"You know it’s spring in Brisbane when you see cyclists with bristling spikes on their bike helmets, or children wearing upside down ice cream containers on their heads. No, it’s not a fashion statement. It’s a sign of magpie nesting season, when the swooping can be a little too close for comfort.

Many cyclists have wobbled or fallen after an unexpected attack from a feathered fiend, but there’s no need to panic. See a 2010 magpie attack hotspots map."

The full article is here, if you are interested in reading further. When I first read this, I was a bit alarmed that we needed something called a Magpie Alert. When I saw nothing on these lines in the coming weeks, I figured it must be another one of those little things that Queenslanders seem to make a big deal out of. Until today, when I was attacked by a couple of magpies myself. Boy, are they vicious. My head still hurts. I had to check twice to make sure I was not bleeding. 

The first thing I did on getting home was to log on to the webpage and look at the map. Funny how my suburb is not listed with the magpie alert sign. That explains why I did not get to experience these pesky creatures thus far. I jogged into a lush green park on my way back this morning and voila, there they were. Snuck up from behind me, soundlessly, and went thwack! I felt a sharp, strong knock on my head like someone had thrown a sharp-edged rock at me. I squealed and turned to see the beast of a creature in black and white, fly back on to his tree, with an I-dont-care-for-your-screams expression. I swear I could almost see that on his face... the tilt of his neck, the careless body language, if they is such a thing among birds.

I swore at him and kept walking. Whoosh, he came within seconds... kicking me with his legs but not hurting me that bad. I looked up and there was another guy. What the hell? I decided to turn around and get out of the park. I walked towards the road. Before I knew it, another big rap on my head, nearly missing the soft centre of the top of my head. Fuck, it hurt! I did not even want to stop to look any more, I kept rushing towards the road, away from the trees. Whoosh, another kick. Hell, are they going to keep attacking me? He just attacks me and swoops onto a tree, in full view, as if daring me to question him. Praying that he would not chase me once I was across the road, I crossed and walked real fast, away from the park. I kept turning back to see if he was going to come after me. He did not. 

As I walked back home, my head was throbbing. I touched to see if it was bleeding. My had touched damp hair. Shit! One second of panic before I realised it was just sweat. I remembered I had been running. I walked fast, before the sun could worsen my headache. I had a long day ahead of me... filled with work, domesticity, flying kites and what not. A dry leaf fell on my neck, prised by the gentle breeze from the trees above. I squealed, saw the leaf and laughed. Relief. I have had enough bird attacks for the day. I need a break.

Apparently, Australian magpies are protected by some wildlife act or the other and it is an offence to harm them. Read more here. Right now, I'm pissed. I think humans are the ones that need protection from magpies. They should make magpie attacks an offence and put the rowdy birds behind bars!