Ok. So my morning commute leaves me tainted for abut an hour at work and I don’t want to talk to anyone. The problem is that I HATE for strangers to touch me. Living in New York and using public mass transit, this is somthing that is unavoidable. This morning, I stood on the platform of the 6 train. We knew where the doors were going to stop so we stood just off to the side in a line waiting for the next train. I’m second or third in line when this woman wearing a gaudy suede coat and fake fur hat dashes right in front of me. She was so close I could see my breath making her fake fur feathers move. I tried to stay calm because I realize that I’m not in London and lines aren’t important to people in the good ole US of A. Fortunately, when the train came so many people poured out that she was pushed back and I made my way in. Unfortunately, she ended up standing right behind me. It annoyed me when she bumped me so I bumped back. Then, at my stop, she reaches out and touches my arm to get me move me out of the way with her nasty hand that had been just touching an infested NYC subway pole. I grimmaced, yelled, “EXCUSE YOU! DON’T TOUCH ME!”, nearly pushed her, and made my way off the train. She bolted by me and I had the urge to follow her just so i could keep touching her with random pieces of garbage all the way to her destination.
Ok. So this whole hormone thing that happens with pregnancy is everything that people make it out to be. You really do feel like the littlest something is a monsterous catastrophe.
Example: Tom and I were going to celebrate some great news he got at work by me cooking his favorite dish, meatloaf (yes, I can cook). Well I was getting home before him so the plan was that after getting home he would have to wait no longer than a half hour before eating. So on my way in, I stopped off at the grocery store to pick up all the ingredients. It was packed but I got lucky and was second in line. I got in and began to prepare when I realized I didn’t have a backing pan. It was the only thing I forgot. I had to get back before Tom. It was hard to run, so let’s just say I rushed back to the store, grabbed a pack of disposable pans, got to the front, and saw that the lines were worse than before. I stood in the 10 items or less line where there was a new casheir waiting on all the WIC, EBT, and food stamp holders. It was excruciating. I stood there longer than it took to complete the entire first trip from entry to exit. At the front of the line, I threw the $2 at the guya and ran from the store without my change or a bag. The whole time I was on my way back I kept thinking, “Please don’t let me see him walking across the street. Please don’t let him be at home.” I turn the key in the lock after jogging up the stairs and, of course, there’s Tom taking off his coat. I collapsed on the couch and began sobbing like my dog had just died. Tom obviously freaked, as this was a first for both of us. He tried to comfort me, but nothing seemed to stop it from happening. I tried to relay my story only to release more sobs instead. It was an incrdible pregnancy milestone that I hope I will forget.
