Somehow, it's happened. Winter turned to spring turned to me holding Eva in the sprinklers at the park, and soon--so soon--fall will peek her pretty little red head around the corner, curl her finger up like a comma, and say, Come hither, please.
I have visions of being in the classroom: I sit attached to a pump, and my students pretend not to notice. Worse yet, all my metaphors are linked to motherhood. We must nurse this exercise for all it's worth, I tell them. A good beginning, I say, is the epidural of all essays--it makes for a far less painful experience for your readers!
Then, of course, is the fear that I've actually forgotten how to teach, that I'll stumble into the room ten minutes late with a latte in my hand and say things like, so, uhm, what exactly is an essay, and does anyone have a pen I can borrow? (All the while, I'll be checking my cellphone to see if the nanny is calling and looking down to make sure I haven't sprung a leak.)
I guess the good news is summer's just getting started. I have eight full weeks to replace all my dropping-the-baby dreams with uhm-hello-I'm-you're-uhm-"teacher" dreams. Now, if I can just start getting some sleep...