As I clung to the sweaty silver pole, with a stranger rammed against my already aching feet, I remembered train journeys in rush hour are very undignified.
I also remembered that high heeled shoes are best avoided (especially after nine months of flat heeled boots/pink fluffy slippers) and breakfast should be essential.
I painfully slipped one foot out of my poisonous foot wear (bliss!), pretended I wasn't feeling queasy, tutted at the stranger ramming himself, and tried not to cry.
It was precisely fourteen minutes since I'd said goodbye to Tommy, leaving him in the loving hands of my mother. Fourteen minutes of not looking at his infectious smile and his arms flapping about excitedly.
How could I possibly survive the rest of the day?
I had to battle on. My maternity leave was over, and I was expected to return to work. Finances meant I had to return. I consoled myself with the knowledge that extra money meant fabulous toys for Tommy at Christmas, and we could afford the fireguard, stair gates and play mats for his safety. Safety was vital, and the tiny piano spotted on Amazon was not cheap.
Besides, we were hoping Mark's new career would take off into successful oblivion. Or I would finally get round to writing that book, and could therefore be the stay at home mum I was craving to be.
Until then I had to show my face again in the office. I admit it was kind of nice seeing familiar people. I was met with hugs, smiles, and cries of, "I can't believe you're back already!"
I sat at my desk and stared at the folders and blank computer screen. Could I remember what I was supposed to be doing? My heart ached when I thought of Tommy laughing at his musical cow and his chubby little arms reaching out for me.
Okay, it wasn't all doom and gloom, the sales rep from our printing company called to confirm our lunch date. So after discussing sleeping habits and suitable baby food with Jo (colleague who's also had baby and returned to work), I escaped and headed to Prezzo's.
Prezzos was heaven at a table. To be able to eat with two hands again, concentrate on my food, and not gobble in an unladylike manner, was stuff dreams are made of. Breaded mushrooms, garlic bread, chicken, bacon and avocado salad, honeycomb cheesecake and two glasses of wine have never tasted so good.
Back at my desk I got stuck into some work, it had to be done.
Then the afternoon whizzed by, after quite a few Tommy text updates from my mother, and I practically leapt to the train station for my journey home.
This time I made it my priority to stand in the correct place when waiting for my train, so as not to be rammed against strangers (usually it works). I also took advantage of the free magazines circulating, to pass the time before I was reunited with my son. Oh hello there Stylist magazine, it's you again. I gratefully read the pages and realised I was getting the hang of this commuting lark all over again.
And tomorrow I would sensibly wear flats shoes. High heels are over rated and I couldn't care a less what my legs look like these days. I have more important things to think about, such as how much I've missed Tommy and how I couldn't wait to see him again.
But shh, don't tell him, I don't wish to offend him - it wasn't half as bad as I thought it would be.