Dear NYC,

Dear NYC,

I am hating you right now.

Let me make it clear. I do love NYC. I was born here and so far have lived 23 of my 36 years in NYC. The rest of the time I was only about an hour and a half away. But shit is getting wack. Or maybe I just am at my end.

Being pregnant in NYC summertime is crap. If it was winter it would be crap, too, just for different reasons.

It’s super hot. Like 90 plus wicked humidity. But besides that, the subway is even hotter with even more stagnant air. It’s like a sauna and pregnant women are not allowed in a sauna.

The other day, I couldn’t wait to get home to relax. I mean, this is everyday, but it was this day in particular.

I take the subway — the 6 to the F. It involves a transfer at Bleecker. But the 6 never stopped at Bleecker. No announcement, just barreled on — passing stop after stop without even honking the horn like the train usually does when it skips stations. People were concerned. Finally came to a stop at Brooklyn Bridge, so everyone got off and backtracked without ever knowing why. Took the 6 uptown to the stop the train missed. What in the world was going on?!

When I finally got to the F train platform I was sweating. Serious sweating. Sweating like no human who only was walking should sweat. Not even a pregnant at 18 weeks with twins human. Though I do feel like I am turning into a bear with all the hair growing all over my body. But I don’t even think a bear would sweat this much.

And I was already wearing my second pair of panties for the day since I sweated through the other pair. A nerd pair I bought from from Duane Reade. Hanes. Cringe.

Then I felt it. A stream of liquid running down my leg.

What? Was it my water breaking? It’s too early. Was it blood? I was almost afraid to look. But I did.

It was sweat from my ass.

Dear NYC. I so hate you right now.