After being home with my son for a few days, I'm convinced motherhood is a special case of Stockholm Syndrome. I have to admit, I'm kind of glad to be back at work. It's hard to relax when you can't do anything without interruption, and my son is the master at yelling 'M-O-M! M-O-M!' in a semi-urgent voice then when I answer, saying something like 'I love you mom' or 'Look at the cats' or something else that's simultaneously inane and affectionate so I can't get mad at him.
Now that he's back at school, I can make goo-goo eyes at his after-school counsellor for whom I have a little Mrs. Robinson thing. I suspect he flirts with all the moms, and why not? It's actually a little galling to realize Anne Bancroft was only 36 when she was Mrs. Robinson - just a baby cougar.
I did knit half a sweater while I was off, though, and started reading Belle de Jour, the diary of a London call-girl who also blogs. She's a pretty raunchy girl, but I have to say, it reads a bit like those skeevy stories in Penthouse forum. And I can't help thinking she must be a seething mass of chlamydia and genital warts if half of what she writes is true. I actually think it's a very clever marketing campaign - she's advertised herself as uber-kinky and GGG (per Dan Savage - good, giving and game), so she can probably up her rates a bit, and make the most of her limited shelf life.