Up since 5:30 a.m. with my 1-year-old, Finn, I am five hours, two breakfasts, six readings of I Am a Bunny, one ineffectual espresso and a mini temper tantrum (Finn's) into my day when I arrive at the office, half an hour late. I've got two stories to finish and already, not enough hours. Oh, and my shirt's on inside out. It's been one of those mornings when my life seems impossible, farcical. Racing to the train in my heels and little skirt, I'm sure I looked comically frazzled—as if I could have tripped and fallen into a flower stand at any moment. But I was multitasking—running, pulling out my wallet, calling the nanny to remind her about a grocery delivery, and crying—all at once. Nine months after the day I went back to work, the kisses I blow to Finn on my way out the door are still slightly mournful, and Monday goodbyes are particularly difficult for both of us.
In the cafeteria, I tap into a vat of Colombian roast while my colleague and cohort Laurie fills me in on last night's date. It's Laurie who talks me down when I vow to drop out of the rat race and move to Vermont, and Laurie who reports back to me on her life of parties and bars and readings—the life I used to have.
"Excuse me," interrupts a cute guy next to us at the milk station, "would you be so kind?" He points to a basket filled with sugar packets, but looks straight at me, all twinkly-eyed and flirty. Stop the presses: A guy is checking me out. I chuck two sugars at him and then practically run away. Don't bother looking at me, I want to say. I'm not part of your world anymore. Still, it cheers me up when Laurie whispers, "That guy was devouring you with his eyes!" There was a time when men seemed hungry for me, but that was back when I used to look at myself in the mirror before leaving for work; when "floor time" meant lying on a mat at the gym; when morning quickies were still a possibility; when I thought of myself as carefree and, on a good day, even a little dangerous.
It's normal for a new mom to miss her old self, isn't it? Mine liked to say yes: yes to sex; yes to booze and occasional drugs; yes to weird jobs; yes to anything new, even (especially) if it was possibly bad for my health but potentially good for my character. And then I said the ultimate yes, to an artist whose meticulous sculptures had romantic titles like Sweeter than Roses, Perfect Summer, and Into My Arms.
Next Page: "I'm not sure where that girl is or if she'll be back."
