Now that January is over, I have officially done -- or rather, not done -- something I'm not particularly proud of.
I didn't take the subway for an entire month.
That's the first time that's happened since we moved here almost five and a half years ago. And I'm going crazy.
It's not just that I'm not getting out of the neighborhood. I'm not getting out of the apartment.
Of course, it would have been even worse if we wouldn't have gone to Ohio for a week. Then I would have felt even less fresh air last month. Even still, it's tough not going outside for days at a time.
Admittedly, this is within my own control. However, the cold weather, rain, snow and a needy nursing baby have conspired to hold me hostage. In December, I would cart Edith and her stroller to the library: a pleasant stroll for both of us. Now smiting winds hole us up indoors.
I could go out a bit by myself, but she always seems to be hungry for most of the evening by the time Paul is home from work. Then we eat supper, and then I'm too tired to go anywhere.
I know it'll get easier, especially when it's warmer and Edith and I can take long walks or go to the park. Until then, I'm thinking something I never thought I'd think: I miss my freezing cold walks to the subway every morning.