You're Missing It

I'm in a rather melancholy mood today, perhaps due to the incessant partly cloudiness, perhaps due to myriad problems in my friends' personal lives, perhaps because I'm listening to Barry Manilow. Regardless, it's there, unable to be lifted even by a viewing of Along Came Polly last night. Usually Ben Stiller will do the trick.

I should really turn off Barry.

So I was looking at the calendar yesterday and realizing the little angel is 10 weeks old. Which means I have to go back to the D.C. (dreaded cubicle) in two weeks. I like my job just fine. It's not writing magazine articles, but after trying to make a go of that for three years, I'm tired of the fight anyway. I like the people with whom I work. The commute is short and lunch spots abundant. But there is no little angel there.

I always thought I would be rushing back to the office with relief, eager for adult interaction and the small sense of power and rightness one gets from a successful meeting or met deadline. I told people I would be a better mama if I could just get away from the baby for a little while each day. I'd make up for being gone by using all that money to pay people to clean my house and wash my car so I could spend "quality time" with my children. But who the hell am I, anyway? I tried to have my tubes tied at 18, certain I would never, ever want children to tie me down. I was completely and totally unprepared for the force of children. I feel like I have been hit by an emotional tidal wave that picked me up from nice, orderly and efficient life and plunked me down on Gilligan's Island, surrounded by dirty diapers, messy shacks and a lovable bunch of idiots I now do not want to abandon for the trappings of civilization.

I know I'll once again adapt. I've seen friends and family go through this transition, too. Six months from now I'll probably be relieved I fought through the sadness and returned to work. I know we need the money. I also know, deep down, that I need the ego boost that comes from paid work. I just wish I could escape this nagging feeling that I'm missing the point here. I've missed the point for years of my life at a time, only to discover later what was going on at the time. I now realize we have control over very little in life, and pretty much any road is an acceptable one if it is navigated carefully and with respect for the other weirdos on the island. So I guess in two weeks I'll have to get back in the boat. It's just unbelievable to realize that now that help has arrived, I wish I could hide from it.