The slow saxophone jazz on the 2. Avenue uptown platform made me slow down my pace and reflect on how much I love the New York subway. Its busyness, its roughness and its friendliness without chit-chat. I have yet to get on a crowded train with Zoe without someone giving up their seat for her or moving over so I can sit next to her. The calming music also finally allowed me to laugh about my bad-mommy moment of the morning: Me reaching over Zoe to turn off my 5:30 alarm but forgetting that I had plugged in my phone last night and clumsily dropping it, straight in Zoe's face. She cried in her sleep while I whispered, "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry". Her eyebrow was read from the blow and I hoped it wouldn't bruise. She slept for another hour and a half while I got up and showered.
I squeezed into the overfilled subway car together with all the other blonde career women with their lattes in one hand and their Tory Burch bags in another, only distinguished from their upper west alter egos by their edgy hats and flats rather than heels. One of them let me reach my arm over to hold onto the rail and we exchanged one of those smiles acknowledging that we were all in the same boat, going to the same kind of office job, staying late to try to make it in our competitive world before it was too late. Except I couldn't stay late, I had a four year old to pick up and then feed and put to sleep. I would then be so tired that I would fall asleep next to her, tumble out to brush my teeth around 11pm and go back to bed, only to set my alarm for 5:30 so I could get an hour's work done in the morning instead. But at least I was still in the career game, only difference these days was that I made my coffee at home and drank it at 6 am before Zoe woke up. And right now, I wouldn't want it any other way.
|One morning where I did not get|
up at 5:30