I recall an early encounter at baby group, where I casually dropped into conversation my plans to work full-time. Silence descended upon the group. An icy wind blew across my nipple shields, then the entire roomful of mothers let out a collective gasp, clutching their babies tight to their bosoms as though I had just announced my intention to microwave my baby. And eat it.
In recent months my desire to get back in the corporate saddle has less to do with picking up my flagging career, and more to do with the more prosaic aspects of life. I dream of drinking a cup of tea without the need to explain to my colleages that it’s “hot, hot, hot!” Conducting a telephone meeting without hissing “mummy’s talking” at the tribe of pygmies following me from room to room. Reading a report sitting in a real chair, at a real desk, instead of having to retreat to the locked toilet, simply to finish a chapter of a book I started while I was still pregnant. The first time.