April 16, 2013 - Unexpected Sun

Despite the fact that it has been spring for quite some time, we are having an unseasonably cold April here in NYC. We've had one or two nice days but that's been about it. So it was a nice surprise today when the day went from pretty chilly to much sunnier in the afternoon. It was one of those days when you walk around, drink in the scenes around you and just enjoy life and the fact that you live in New York.

Verdict: Love New York

April 15, 2013 - Construction

There is construction everywhere in this city. You cannot escape it. It becomes particularly noticeable on several occasions -- (1) you have a hangover; (2) you hear about scaffolding collapsing and killing someone, after which you immediately notice all of the scaffolding everywhere around you; and (3) you have a baby, finally get them down for a nap, and the noise starts (before 9am!!!).

Verdict: Hate New York (and again, it is not even 9am yet)

April 8, 2013 - The Indignity of Pregnancy in New York City

It's been a while since I posted and a lot has happened in that time, namely, I had a baby. So now I have a whole new world of things to post about with respect to loving and hating New York. Yay, inspiration? In any case, let's get the ball rolling with a piece I wrote about one of the moments that stands out from the last few months...

The Indignity of Pregnancy in New York City

This morning I did the unthinkable. I, a 33-year-old gainfully employed, successful woman, was forced to take a shit into a grocery bag in my kitchen. Why? Because I live in New York City.

Let me backtrack a moment if I may. It is a truth, almost universally acknowledged, that when you live in New York City you will pay an outrageous amount in rent for an apartment that the rest of those living in the United States (and maybe the world) would scoff at. My husband and I pay about $3600/month for a two-bedroom, one bathroom apartment in the West Village, and that’s considered a bargain. After five years of living in New York City, it’s easy to become so jaded that you can convince yourself that having one bathroom isn’t the worst thing in the world. After all, it’s never been a problem before. And then you get pregnant.

At first, being pregnant in New York City doesn’t seem so bad. That lasts about four weeks, or until your super-sensitive sense of smell kicks in. Then, the smells of the city don’t just haunt you, they stalk you: the garbage, the urine, the traffic, it just doesn’t end. Simply walking down the street can bring on massive bouts of morning sickness, and you haven’t even made it to the subway yet. Perhaps the best part of being in your first trimester and feeling sick is that since no one can tell that you’re pregnant, you get absolutely no special treatment from anyone. No one offers you a seat on the subway, so you’re forced to stand like a sardine on the train, hoping to God you don’t get stuck next to someone with awful body odor. And forget about asking someone for their seat – cynical New Yorkers aren’t about to give up their seat for someone who may be faking it.

By the time your second trimester rolls around, you’re feeling better and start to think, “Hey, I can do this!” Then you realize you’re going to have to find space for your little bun once he or she is out of the oven. Someone named Judith Stone once apparently said, “In New York City, one suicide in ten is attributed to a lack of storage space.”[1] Trying to find space for all of the baby gear you now have to squeeze into your already tiny, over-priced apartment can certainly make this seem true. Oh, and you still don’t look pregnant enough to warrant a seat on the subway. You probably just look a little bit chubby and there is no sympathy there.

Once your third trimester arrives, you’ve come to realize that getting around this “great” walkable city isn’t quite so great anymore. You’re carrying around extra weight, which means you’re winded going just about anywhere. You have to take your time, and there’s no sin like being a slow pedestrian in the city. Cabs are too expensive to take on any regular basis and are reserved for those glorious times when it can’t be helped – like, for example, when you get kidney stones for the first time. There’s nothing quite like having to moan in agony in the presence of a cab driver. Chalk that one up to not having a car. Why? Because you live in New York City.

So where does all of this leave you? Pregnant, miserable, and probably constipated because hey, that’s what happens when you’re pregnant. Which brings us back to the start of our story, me, taking a shit into a grocery bag in my kitchen. This is because my husband was using our one bathroom at the time and, as men are wont to do, generally takes a while in there. So as he was sitting in there, perusing the latest GQ or Esquire or whatever, I found myself with the sudden urge to go. This after giving it a champion try earlier that day with no results. And given where I was at in pregnancy, this was a must-go situation. So what was I to do? My thoughts were racing, my palms were sweaty and then suddenly the answer appeared: D’Agostino. I grabbed a bag, hitched one end onto a knob on a kitchen drawer, held the other end in my other hand and took a dump in my kitchen. I was relieved and then mortified, truthfully in about equal measure. Then I quadruple-bagged the evidence and made a hasty trip to dispose of it in the basement. The only question that remained was whether or not to tell my husband. After about a minute I decided that the laugh he would get would be worth it (it was). But I still cannot get over this simple fact: I pay $3600/month in rent and I was forced to take a dump in my kitchen. The indignity of pregnancy in New York, indeed.

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[1] Ecosalon.com/50-best-quotes-about-new-york-city

**Do you really have to ask? I basically hated New York for most of my pregnancy.**