Living in the city with a baby hasn't posed as many challenges as I feared. I'm able to navigate the flights of stairs, the sometime narrow sidewalks and the often impossible traffic. But there's one thing that gets to me every now and then: I get homesick.
I know, I know. I'm too old to long to be back in my old neighborhood, surrounded by familiar things. But sometimes I just want to pull up to that elm-lined suburban street and melt into the well-worn couch, leaving work and the loud, carelessly running, unsupervised New York City urchins, er, children behind.
The feeling lasts for a few minutes, maybe a few hours, and then I snap back to reality and open the designated menu drawer in our kitchen (the most used thing in the place) and order sushi at midnight.
This is when I love New York.