back to the office

On the 4 train into Manhattan. Already, there are things I forget: the breast pads, bottlecaps for pumping bottles, the slim freezer packs that make the bottles fit. I tried to prepare Phoebe for me being gone all day. It has rarely, if ever, been so long. One or two times before, I guess. But that was an aberration. This is the new normal. How will I do without the naps I have become so accustomed to? Will I need to start drinking caffeine again? How will Phoebe adjust? How will Josh adjust? (He will now be with her in the mornings.) At 3 months, it seemed hard; at 5 months, now it seems possible. In Josh’s arms this morning, she looked down coyly and bounced her leg, gave me an uncertain smile.

I’ll call you, I said. I’ll call you.

The office. The cube. My company has been bought by another company. The Technical Help Desk has moved to Orlando. The guy I talk to reset my computer password has a lower voice than the guy I used to talk to in Austin. It is cold there—30 degrees. A cold front. I moved here, he says bitterly, for the weather . . .