Back to School

I inspect my outfit before I leave and it has not been milk-bombed and there are no tapers on my shorts and I am set. No traces of mom on me. I am vowing to myself that I will not tokenize myself in class tonight as That Mom Student. It's the first night of classes and I just don't want to show my mom card yet. I park the car in my usual spot, a mile away, and think how grateful I am that I am walking this mile as a non-pregnant person. It is good to be on the Cambridge side of life again. I hold the lock remote up to the car as I walk away and I see the car seat in the back seat.... We do introductions in class after the megalomaniac professor rattles off a laundry list of published works and Pulitzers. Woohoo. Everyone begins by saying, "This is my third/fifth/first class in the master's program." It is taking all of my power not to mention that I am back after a semester off when I was busy having a baby and falling madly in love with my new daughter.

The megalomaniac reads two of his own pieces. Of course the second piece is about a woman who dies in childbirth.

I speak with two friendly students on our way out of class.  "You are almost done with your master's?" the PhD in History asks.

Yes, I tell her, and I cannot wait to be done.

She looks at me quizzically, like what could be more fun than school?

I reveal I have a seven month-old at home and that I just want to get back to focusing on one thing.

But I know that is a lie, or if not an outright lie, than I am simply deceiving myself.  Because life will never be so tidy that we can all focus on one thing.  And I should not pretend that I can.

I get to feed her before I go to sleep.  That warm snuggley body with the kissable cheeks.  Best thing I have done all day.