Bodily fluids

Crowded No. 2 train, between Times Square and 72nd St. I had snagged a seat when I got on at Wall Street by snaking my way through the crowd (no longer relying only on the kindness of strangers). A mother boards carrying her 16-month-old son. No one gives her a seat because people are lousy. I should have offered her mine, maybe that would have shamed someone into giving theirs up – didn’t think of that, but maybe next time.

The boy is an adorable cherub and he’s reaching up for the bar overhead that mama is hanging on to. She hoists him up so he could grab on with both hands, and clearly, this subway ride is now on par with Disneyland in his mind. He’s grinning and just looks so pleased with himself.

“His first time on the subway,” mom explains. I smile up at the baby and give him my best, “Wow, you are up so high!” impressed expression, which makes him giggle and grin even more. So much so, in fact, that a little drop of drool comes sliding out of his mouth and rains down onto my lap. Luckily, I saw it coming and strategically placed my pocketbook to take the hit.

“He’s spitting!” cries one alarmed lady sitting next to me, causing the mother to adjust her hold and apologize profusely.

“Don’t worry about it,” I assure the mother, moving my purse to point to my belly. “I’ll have to learn to deal with drool soon enough.”

After all, of all the bodily fluids I worry about on the subway, a little baby drool isn’t so bad.