The Munch and I had an adventure in NYC over the past few days.  Being in my old stomping ground always provokes a serious sense of nostalgia.  It is not that long that I have been gone, yet so much has changed for me in the past 4 years.  I am ultimately the same person, but being a “mom” also has made me fundamentally different.  When I go back to where I was just Toni the person, and not Toni the parent, it is this overwhelming crisis of identity.

Also having The Munch in the city is its own trip.  Where I live in the country I can just open the door and she can frolic in the fields with woodland creatures.  But in NYC I have to deal with all these things that aren’t a necessity here, like wearing shoes. Do I bring a stroller and fumble around with it on the stairs of the train? Or do I walk and risk her making me carry her for 20 blocks because she is tired and a drama queen?  There are just all these little details that make life exponentially more annoying.

Also going to a public bathroom with a toddler in the city is really gross.  Especially in the east village where there is a coating of urine and cocaine plastered to the seat.  Trying to have Munch pee without touching anything was impossible.  And fitting two people in such tiny stalls meant I kept having to dry hump the walls while I maneuvered around to put toilet paper on the seat and avoid her thighs being contaminated.  I never wish she had penis more. And one that came out of her forehead at that.

We then went to the playground to have some Munchee time, and I got to say those NY kids are some pushy people.  The conversations I overheard where pretty much insane.

Girl with tutu: No Gwen don’t push me on the swing. I am waiting for my grown up to push me.

Boy with $300 Nikes: What do you mean taking a turn?  Since when is it not my turn?

Girl with perfect hair: Don’t talk to me! I am trying to concentrate.  And then I am going to go down the slide when I am ready.

While we were on the swings, one girl came up to us and tried to use Munch’s stroller.  Now The Munch was NOT into the idea of someone touching her stroller at all the idea of this gave her a lot an anxiety.

Munch: Mamma, she is trying to take my stroller! Tell her no! Please I don’t want her taking it!

Toni: Hi sweetie, how about you don’t touch that stroller, because we actually don’t know you at all, and it is really stressing her out.

Little girl: Well my name is Nelga.  And we will play with the stroller together.

Somehow I spent the rest of my afternoon with Nelga bossing me around.  I had no idea who she belonged too, but I did know that when Nelga commanded, I obeyed.  Something about a 3 year old with a thick Eastern European accent that makes you behave.  It took me a half an hour to figure out whom Nelga was even with, until I finally understood her Dad was across the park either on the phone or avoiding his dictator child.