Instead, I was sitting on a bench in Central Park, watching a four-year-old in a miniature Burberry trench coat have a full-blown meltdown because his artisanal, organic juice box was the wrong shade of green.
"I have no idea what I'm doing with my life," I admitted, taking a sip.
"Well," he said, taking my hand and pulling me close. "You've successfully navigated the wildest jungle in Manhattan. I'd say you're ready for anything."
Caleb smiled, stepping forward and handing me a cup. "I heard what happened. You did the right thing."
"I prefer the term 'urban anthropologist observing a bizarre tribal culture,'" I replied, flushed.
"Annie," Grayer whispered to me on my third day, as I tried to coax him into eating a plate of steamed kale shaped like the Eiffel Tower. "Do you think Mommy knows I'm here?"