I'm sort of a control freak, or at least I was. I've noticed myself easing off on the control thing more and more as the little angel gets older, because really? You can't force another human being to eat, sleep or poop.
Despite my ongoing need to Be In Charge, I instantly like any activity that requires one to sign a waiver. Just because I don't feel comfortable doing them all right now because I'm the mother of a young child doesn't mean I don't want to. I feel alive when I sign those waivers.
I think I've found a nice compromise with the Ibex rock climbing gym. I took the little angel there a few weekends ago. Two waivers. I hesitated a little signing hers -- I sort of wish she could sign her own, but she is, well, four, and she can't read anything longer than "jump" right now -- but I relished signing mine. Yes! Let's cling from a wall by our fingertips! Yeah, baby.
We didn't do the full-on rock climbing, because we missed the window when they belay the kids, so we went bouldering instead. It felt GREAT. I love the adrenaline. I love the chalk. I love the fluffy mats and the way my stomach jumped when I looked down and realized, oops! I was 15 feet in the air. I love the expression on the little angel's face when she sees her mommy jump from 10 feet up and land in a ball beside her.
In my youth, I went bungee jumping from a crane in a fast-food parking lot in my hometown, parasailed four or five times and did the zip-cord ride at amusement parks. Now, even though I still love the adrenaline and still really want to jump out of an airplane, I picture my daughter's face, and I just can't do it. I'm not scared in the traditional sense, I'm scared in the maternal sense. My approach to living has changed -- there is someone who genuinely needs me now.
So: indoor rock climbing. It seems the most controlled risk I can take easily. And I still get to sign the waiver.
