What a Lift

At my school, there are several teachers and staff who are expecting or recent moms. While this is common in elementary schools, it doesn’t always happen in such a cluster, and the impending cohort of babies is adding a fun energy to the school environment. It is truly amazing how with just a short distance from having a newborn, I can look back on that time with such joy. I do remember being almost insane and feeling like a subject of sleep deprivation research, but that fades to the background. I do remember the two months of feeding a mostly unresponsive being who just slept, pooped, and ate. I do remember the magic of the first real interactions and then later words. Perhaps it is the knowing of what evolves that makes me think on new babies fondly, but there is just something about the new babies themselves that is wondrous.

With this hovering on the back of my mind, I find myself seeing again the things that changed and I now take for granted. Elevators stand out as one of the big ones. I rarely thought about them pre-children, but now I heavily depend on them. As a regular T rider and in any multi-story building, I have to find the elevator. It is amazing where elevators can be located and the difficulty of getting to them. In South Station, the elevator that takes one from the T to the train terminal is hidden down a longish service corridor that really seems to be not the place to find an elevator. I have learned to trust that the signs will eventually lead me to the correct place, and occasionally, I just grit my teeth and bump the stroller up the stairs. The recent spate of elevator upgrades promises much improved service, but has been even more tricky to navigate.

On the days I walk through the T stops without a child, and even more remarkable when I am in an airport sans children, I feel almost bewildered at the ease of getting through. My feet start toward the elevators, but I catch myself. The feeling in that instant, the freedom and lightness, it is a lift.

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