I wasn’t always a Dinosaur Mom. My youthful aspirations had bubkes to do with dinosaurs. I am periodically reminded of this when I run into former lovers in the Proustian compression of space and time that is my workplace. I entered government service at 21, you see, so my agency is my youth; office supplies, my madeleine …
Today was such an occasion. The man I credit with teaching me to love called to update me on his welfare and whereabouts. When I say to love, I’m not referring to physical technique — I mean the emotional exertions upon which my subsequent family happiness rests. He took me back to my pre-Cambrian self with a few choice words and left me largely useless to the taxpayer for the rest of the day.
