A good friend recently asked me about whether I had ever experienced a time in my adult life when things were uncomplicated. Unstressful. Balanced.
I thought for a few moments. And I surprised her, and myself, by saying yes.
Back in 2002, I think I surprised many people by having no interest in going back to work after the birth of my first boy. I remember being questioned and challenged by people who were closest to me about what I really wanted and needed. Didn't I need the intellectual stimulation of being engaged at work? Wouldn't I feel empty being so baby-focused? I even had a friend kindheartedly accuse me of not being honest with myself.
I think in some ways I was even surprised at how easy it was for me to leave work behind. After all, I love my work. My work/home balance problems didn't just emerge after my babies were born. You can ask John about that. But I remember reconnecting with colleagues over tea at the kitchen table soon after Nicholas was born and, while I was genuinely interested in what was going on at work, I really was quite happy to see them out the door and let them to it.
I've been back to work now for 4 years. And I still grieve the simplicity of a singular focus in my life. I remember fondly the days of folding diapers. Of bundling the babies up and taking meandering morning walks on chilly November days. Of baking cookies or baking anything really. Of productive afternoons consisting of nothing more than story books and play dough. It sounds romantic and revisionist. But it was romantic. I really loved every minute of it.
It's harder than I ever realized, negotiating this crazy tight rope that stretches between work and family. The pull between the two means that both are inadequately attended to as I am left alone, teetering midway, immobilized by the competition between my own wants and needs and the screaming demands coming from either side of the great black hole below.
I am a mom. And a mediator.
And I wish I still had the time and inclination to make yogurt from scratch.
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