6.19.2006
freedom, just $1.25 (and a transfer)
On Friday, I got a glimpse of myself--my old self--again. Husband was home with baby (well, home with the soccer, of course, and baby on the side), and I had a coffee appointment downtown. So I set out with my fancy pocketbook and my iPod, no bottles or diapers or wipes or wriggling ball of giggle-snorts. Decided to take the bus, and left an hour for the ride, seemed like a sure thing.
Half an hour later and I'm still waiting at the bus stop. I think about taking a cab, decide that if another 15 minutes go by that's what I'll do. (The bus is sure to be air-conditioned; the cab is sure to be hot and stinky.) Finally, the bus comes, I get on, wondering why no one else who is waiting follows. Then I realize I've made a rookie mistake--I'm on the crowded standing-room-only bus, there is an almost empty one right behind us that everyone else boards. Clearly it's been a while since I've been in the commuting business. Bracing myself against the handrail near the front window I make another error, when we stop to pick someone up and the doors fold open--smacking me in the side.
Oh, I'm paying for my freedom, no doubt about it.
By the time I finally get to the coffee shop--after the FIFTEEN MINUTE DELAY by the White House, waiting for the secret service to escort someone out, I am late and sweaty. But the meeting is perfectly lovely, and--despite the seriously insane and verbally inventive man hanging out on the bus-stop bench--the trip home, via a free transfer, is just fine. I rush in excited to see her again, and baby just looks at me with that "yeah, what else you got?" sneer and turns back to the World Cup. Which is how it should be.
What does this all tell me? That while it is huge fun to be home with baby, much more so than you might imagine, it is also going to be amazing when I become one person again, not two, or, to be exact: one-plus-monkey-hanging-off-my-hip.
Half an hour later and I'm still waiting at the bus stop. I think about taking a cab, decide that if another 15 minutes go by that's what I'll do. (The bus is sure to be air-conditioned; the cab is sure to be hot and stinky.) Finally, the bus comes, I get on, wondering why no one else who is waiting follows. Then I realize I've made a rookie mistake--I'm on the crowded standing-room-only bus, there is an almost empty one right behind us that everyone else boards. Clearly it's been a while since I've been in the commuting business. Bracing myself against the handrail near the front window I make another error, when we stop to pick someone up and the doors fold open--smacking me in the side.
Oh, I'm paying for my freedom, no doubt about it.
By the time I finally get to the coffee shop--after the FIFTEEN MINUTE DELAY by the White House, waiting for the secret service to escort someone out, I am late and sweaty. But the meeting is perfectly lovely, and--despite the seriously insane and verbally inventive man hanging out on the bus-stop bench--the trip home, via a free transfer, is just fine. I rush in excited to see her again, and baby just looks at me with that "yeah, what else you got?" sneer and turns back to the World Cup. Which is how it should be.
What does this all tell me? That while it is huge fun to be home with baby, much more so than you might imagine, it is also going to be amazing when I become one person again, not two, or, to be exact: one-plus-monkey-hanging-off-my-hip.
