This is my second day back at work and I’m determined that the commute isn’t going to turn me into a hate-filled individual who, on occassion, gleans enjoyment from watching people get humiliatingly sandwiched in between the tube doors as they close. Must love my fellow man and stay zen for the baby. Commuters are not faceless zombie wankers, they are all just friends I haven’t met yet (my internal mantra). The gods of the commute are testing me though. Oh, how they are testing me. Waited for 20 minutes in a massive queue at Waterloo yesterday to buy my weekly ticket while one man served and his female colleague sat in the neighbouring window and slowly ate a satsuma – whilst looking out over the incredulous queue. I was desperate for someone other than me to shout something at her, but everyone was so bloody English and just passively aggressively muttered words like ‘no common sense’ and ‘at peak time’ under their breath. Today we were faced with a thirty minute delay on the Jubilee line, but with one opportunity to get the next train due in 2 minutes. Of course, as soon as it arrived it was like a scene from a David Attenborough documentary on the platform. I’m not wearing a ‘baby on board’ badge yet and wonder what the etiquette is in terms of when you can. I’m not bothered about having a seat at this stage because I have no belly to carry and my nausea has pretty much gone, but I just don’t want people to bash into me. Maybe after the scan. Which is on Tuesday. SO nervous. Please, please, please be OK.