Baby commute

I’m starting to take little Caleb to work with me on the train - the old commuter rail into Boston. Unlike my commute last year – waiting for the bus, riding it for 20 stops to the T and then fighting my way to stand on a crowded T, where sitting passengers willfully ignored my pregnant belly – I now take the very civilized commuter rail. Even when crowded, I always get a seat, and an actual person in an old-timey uniform who doesn’t appear to hate his job takes my ticket. The ride is smooth, not jerky, and the whole atmosphere breeds occasional islands of camaraderie, in which regular commuters sit and talk about their jobs, family and vacations like old friends. Each car has a few banquets of seats which face each other, invariably populated by a group of garrulous women, some of whom pull out knitting and occasionally pictures of children, sitting as if for tea in someone’s living room. I find myself on my short commute looking at them longingly, yearning for membership to their sisterhood. Well, I think I may have my ticket. And his name is Caleb.

As “civilized” as this commuting experience can be, with pockets of downright collegiality, it is still mainly a sea of work weary adult strangers. So, when I board with a tiny baby strapped to my chest, this unexpected bundle of cuteness wakes people from their morning daze or afternoon exhaustion. Caleb and I find ourselves the epicenter of smiles rippling out as passengers are uncontrollably charmed by Caleb’s innocent look of wonder at the most mundane backdrop of our days. He reminds them of their own kids or maybe even forces them to recall that part of themselves that once found wonder in the world. Or maybe it’s just the sweet shape of his face that awakens some primal part of themselves hard wired to fall in love with babies. Something about him just breaks down human walls. We all find ourselves smiling at him. And then each other.

I’ve had more conversations with others – sometimes brief, but always warm and sincere – in the 2 days I’ve commuted with him than the previous 2 months. I just love the way he can do that. It’s not that we all throw our cell phones out the window, join hands, singing Kumbaya. But it does allow a chance to briefly strip down our blinders and find a spark of joy and connection in a place that’s otherwise defined mainly by the paradox of physical closeness and emotional distance. Thanks little Caleb.