We Pity The Fool Who Messes With Mrs. T

I was very, very early in my pregnancy when this happened — like a single-digit number of weeks, way too early for anything to be showing. However, I did already have some super fun pregnancy symptoms. Namely, I was liable to burst into tears at ANYTHING, the ligaments in my hips had fully checked out and refused to do their jobs, and being on my feet, especially walking, for more than an hour would bring on a wave of fatigue so severe it would often genuinely make me feel that I physically couldn’t take another step. The latter was especially unhelpful as I have always been a very active person and my favourite way of getting anywhere is to walk, so I have overestimated myself a few times already.

I’ve spent the day house-hunting and exploring the new city that I am relocating to. I get to the train station to head back to the suburb where I am staying with friends until I find somewhere permanent, and I am standing on my platform when I am suddenly overwhelmed by a wave of fatigue. “No matter,” I assure myself. “The train will be here in two minutes, and then I can sit down.”

The train does arrive; however, due to the systematic gutting of our national rail system, the two trains before were delayed, meaning this one is heaving with people. I struggle down the aisle until I come to a set of two priority seats. All are occupied by seemingly able-bodied men in shirts and ties, already with laptops out on the tray tables. As the train moves off, I ask them:

Me: “Excuse me. Is there a possibility I could have a seat here? I’m pregnant, and…”

This draws sniggers from one, who seems to be the ringleader.

Me: “…and I’m struggling to stay upright if I’m honest.”

Ringleader: “You’re not pregnant.”

Me: “And you’re not a doctor. Could you please let me sit down?”

I’m holding onto a rail for dear life and feeling seriously close to fainting when this shocks me back:

Ringleader: “If you’re pregnant, where’s the father?”

Now, this is already an obscenely personal, presumptuous, and judgmental question for anyone, but for me, it hits where it hurts. See, my baby-daddy and I are in a relationship and very much in love, but he is currently studying for a year abroad. We both really want him to finish and enjoy the experience, so we decided that he’s going to finish the year out there. While he will be back before our baby is born, I am doing the majority of pregnancy, including packing up and moving to a new city, by myself.

Unfortunately, thanks to those lovely hormones, instead of becoming ragefully articulate, I feel myself start to dissolve into tears.

Me: *Through tears* “Look, I…”

This is when the angel that is Mrs. T comes into my life. She is the teeniest, tiniest, oldest West African woman you have ever seen in your life. She looks like she could have been school friends with Father Time.

Mrs. T: *Putting her hand on my arm* “You take my seat, darling.”

All my emotions are replaced with mortification that I might take the seat of someone who so clearly needs one.

Me: “No, no. Really, please, I can’t. It’s only three stops. I can stand.”

Mrs. T: “No, no, you should sit.”

Mrs. T guided me into her seat with that special blend of force and gentleness that only wonderful old ladies seem to possess. She then stood staunchly in front of the shamed business boys in the priority seats until one of them shuffled up and mumbled something about her having his seat. She watched over them in extraordinary silence the whole time while I was able to recover in the next row.

We ended up getting off at the same stop, where she told me that the house next to hers had just gone on the market. She set me up with a viewing, and I moved in three weeks later.

Mrs. T came over and checked in on me every single day while my partner was away. She brought me home-cooked food and did little bits of cleaning and tidying when I didn’t have the energy. I taught her how to use video calling to keep in touch with her grandchildren at university and friends in Ghana. When her nephew came out as non-binary, I sat with her and talked through her feelings about it and recommended some resources to help her understand.

When my partner finally returned and moved in, she threw her arms around him and kissed him on the top of his head like he was an old friend she’d been missing.

And when our baby was born, at home, she was downstairs the whole time and was one of the first people to come see me and the baby when we were ready for visitors. When I gave her the baby to hold, she turned to my partner, beaming, and declared, “‘Dis my fourteenth grandbaby, you know?”

I hope every single one of you has a Mrs. T come into your lives; she is a treasure.

This story is part of the Best-Feel-Good-Stories Of-2023 roundup!

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