There's a special place in heaven for people who can handle the New York City subway with patience and grace on a daily basis. I am not one of those people. Never have been, never will be.
This is especially true when I'm pregnant. It's a constant struggle to maintain even the slightest glimmer of sanity. I've spent quite a lot of time riding the subway in my life, and at the moment, I'm pregnant for the second time. I do not enjoy my commute.
Here are a few truths I've figured out about being pregnant on mass transit, in trimester order.
Months 0-3:
No one but you and your closest likely knows you're pregnant, so you can't really fault strangers for not giving you a seat or, more likely, questioning if you're just a little heavy around the middle. But if you're in the throes of morning sickness or chugging Gatorade like it's your lifeline, the subway is the last place you want to be. I timed my morning sickness vomiting to a T -- throw up, get on subway, get to work, throw up. By week 11, I was well-versed in how it all went down. It sucked, yes -- some times more so than others. But it's doable.
Months 4-6:
You're starting to show, so you'd think most people would give you a seat, or at the very least a sympathetic glance. Nope. For the most part -- and I'm working off of an entirely unscientific sample of New Yorkers -- people are complete a**holes on the subway. Seriously. People become harder, less forgiving and basically less human while riding mass transit, so they'll be damned if they're giving up their coveted seat. You can press your stomach out as far as it will go, and NADA. This goes on for a while. So you take matters into your own hands, especially if there's another pregnant lady in the subway car. I generally tend to quickly size up how far along she could possibly be, and if it's farther along than me, I give her the open seat. Otherwise, good luck to us both.
Months 7-9/10:
Here's where things get dicey. You likely need to sit down all the time, so you practically beg for a seat. You make puppy dog eyes at strangers, as if to move their sour souls. If it works, you're forever grateful and say "thank you" about six times. If they just sit there playing on their phones, it's open side-eye season. Maybe you step on their feet or swing your bag a tad too close to their faces. Do it. Screw 'em.
Good luck, ladies. It's rough out there.
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