Overnight Oats and NYC
Twenty-two floors up and feeding my daughter overnight oats. The go-to toddler breakfast for all quarantined working moms. She can almost feed herself. Almost doesn’t cut it at 8:30 am on a Friday morning as I jam social media insights, respond to Slack messages, and make sure I haven’t missed any pressing emails. I try to shut off when it’s breakfast time. It may be a crazy and scary time but it’s also a very special time. It’s day 47. I’ve left the Bronx once.
I zone out during breakfast as I spoon messy heaps of oats into my daughter’s mouth.
The National’s Graceless is humming in the background and my mind travels back to the days I ran through the streets of New York City 13 years ago.
The smell of street food wafting through my nose mixed with cigarette smoke and the intoxicating scent of alcohol overflowing from bars that are also basements. I used to love the darkness. I would embrace the void and trust it’s safety. Night in Manhattan is filled with life. Its recent death flows through me like electricity trapped.
I haven’t missed the magical New York City nightlife because I knew it was always there. Becoming a mother takes that fantastical life away from you. A constant nightlife and a life full of indulgent nights are now spent exhausted. My nightlife is zoned out couch moments. The nights are shorter and the days longer. The escape is still a fantasy and I can’t find the reality there. It will never be the same. I have missed it for so long and now it’s gone. I took it for granted. It’s like a lost lover.
I’m pulled back into the present moment with the repetitive “more, more, more, more oats.”
Live in the moment. Everyone says “be present.” I spoon and deliver another messy overflowing bite and drift again…
I remember when people repeatedly told me to enjoy the moments of silence when I was pregnant. I took it very seriously. I remember sitting in the oversized beige chair that we bought from neighbors who were expecting their first child and didn’t have room for it in their apartment. I slouched 9 months pregnant on a very hot afternoon in June enjoying the silence. I would stare off into the second bedroom littered with boxes and a brand new crib. I held on to the silence then but I don’t remember what it’s like now. Which is probably the point.
“Enjoy that moment at the moment because it will be gone. It’s not to take with you to other moments. ”
“All done.” My daughter finished breakfast as I time-traveled. I missed the moment but thankfully there will be others. I vow, every day to be more present. It’s a practice. I can’t help but miss New York and the life I had before the coronavirus strangled it from me. From all of us. It will be different and maybe it will be more beautiful. It could be more present, thoughtful, and kinder. I look forward to it.
