I never thought I'd get to the point where my own feet felt as though they might give out on me. Despite all the books, advice from other moms/mums and pregnancy Google searches I've done over the last few months, I always thought, 'Not me'.
I write to you now from a very over crowded Monday morning train. Problems over the weekend mean that trains are delayed or cancelled and about 3 trains worth of people are crammed onto the one I am on now. I debated to myself whether to try to catch this one, but as it approached I could see a few available seats. You have to have a dose of optimism to be a commuter, and I thought I'd take a chance.
When the train stopped with the door directly in front of me, I thought I had made a pretty good choice. One of those precious few seats was surely all mine. But a short balding man pushed me out of the way and grabbed the nearest seat as the others further up carriage were snapped up by other weary commuters. I found a place to lean (against the back of a man who grunted his disapproval and the shoulder of another sat down next to me who shot me an angry glare) and tried to settle in for the journey.
I've stood many times on the commute to London, just not so much in the last 6 months when I have always tried to catch the less busy trains, even at the expense of being late to work. I summoned up my resolve and decided that my feet would survive. 15 min down the tracks and I'm sore, shifting from one foot to the other. I look around at the sea of people, heads down, buried into newspapers or eye closed with iPods. My stare is met with an occasional glance and I wonder what to do.
Do I wait patiently for the good graces or shame of someone to take over and offer me a seat? Or do I act assertively, and ask for one if I need it? After all, they may not have noticed. I spend some time arguing with myself about how much I'm showing in the black dress I have on and teeter between feeling cross at all the selfish people and understanding at the Monday morning head-fog. I'm also frustrated at myself. Why can't I just ask for what I need? It is what I have worked through with many a client, rationalising the fears and anxieties that follow. What if they think I'm rude? What if they get angry? All the 'what if's' got in the way. Between them and my frustration at fellow passengers I was feeling pretty unsettled.
My rising tide of frustration was interrupted by a man at a window seat who had been listening to his iPod. He motioned for me to sit down and I waddle through the barricade of suits, thanking this man for his kindness all the way. I admit I was feeling ill. My feet were swollen from standing. I perhaps should have asked. I'm afraid of all these suited strangers thinking I'm weak but I notice that I also don't want to admit a weakness. Not a good combination. In any case, eventually I'm sat warm and snuggled next to a fat man. He's huffing and puffing as my size takes up more than the trim, kind man who gave me this seat. Well, fat guy, it's a tough old world here in the train and now that I've admitted I need this seat, I'm not budging up for you.
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