Work

“Mom, wait!” I hear this a lot after having kissed my son goodnight. I pause for a second, know what’s coming: an excuse to keep me there for a little while longer. Any excuse.

“Your work, mom,” he blurts out, “uhm tell me about your work?”

A perfectly normal question, but when it comes out of the mouth of a 4-year-old, it sounds different. It sounds strange.

I stepped back into his room and felt peculiarly uncomfortable while telling him: “well, once I get to my office – the one you’ve seen (“does it have my pictures on the wall?” “Yes,” I say as I had promised to do that. But I haven’t, not yet) – I turn on all the lights, sit down in front of my laptop and then I make words.”

He stayed silent for a while, seemed to be taking this in as I stood there feeling exposed.

“Are there people at your work?” he asked.

No son, no people. Not even that.