Back to work

The following column ends an eight-year run (to the month) of Can You Dig It? columns for The Clinton Chronicle. Working there was the greatest, but then having a chance to continue writing the column after I left was the best thing in the world, giving me a forum and a deadline every month. There would be no digital home without the analog home, but eight years later, it's time to focus on a new project and a new kind of writing.
So, here it is. It ain't the best one and it ain't the worst.

My 13-month ride on the unemployment rollercoaster finally ends this week as I ditch the soup and snot-stained T-shirt and shorts uniform of a stay-at-home dad for a tie and a new job.
Comparing my unemployment experience to a rollercoaster is not quite right, though. There wasn’t any slow, exciting steep climb to the top – just one long, continuous drop down, down, down, with all of the requisite screaming and nausea.
Thankfully, it’s all over now, and I can celebrate this new chapter in my life.
But that’s not the whole story either.
As awful as it was to be unemployed during a time of national economic crisis, I was blessed with the opportunity to spend a lot of valuable time with my 2-year-old daughter, Sofia, who time and time again crashed my self-pity party by just being amazing.
Even when your adulterous governor is threatening to stop payment on your unemployment check and you’re watching the same episode of “Dora the Explorer" for the billionth time, it’s hard to feel completely worthless when out of the azul your daughter squeezes your neck and says, “I love you, Daddy.”
I knew eventually I would go back to work, but I didn’t know how painful it would be to have to leave the best job in the world. I take solace in the fact that I’ve been lucky enough to do something that not a lot of dads get to do, and I feel like I’ve done a pretty good job.
In the 13 months we’ve shared together, she’s graduated from crib to big girl bed, diaper to big girl undies, given up use of her pacifier and learned to complete a puzzle of the “The United States of America-rah.” Her vocabulary has grown to include words like “Debonair” and “Right-Wing Nut Job,” and most importantly, she’s completely potty trained.
Her working mommy definitely had a lot to do with these accomplishments, but I know the time we’ve shared together has had a singular impact.
Without my influence, would she have learned to scream and cry like a baby when she doesn’t get her way? Maybe. But would she be throwing tantrums when the Cubs bullpen blows a late-inning lead? Probably not.
Would she have gained a special affection for blue lollipops and the way they turn your tongue blue? I hope so. Would she ask the bank teller, “Can I have a blue one, please, lady?” I doubt it.
Other than my fear that Sofia will feel I’m abandoning her when I go back to work, my concern is that after of all this time I’ve spent out of the workforce at home alone with my daughter, I’ll forget how to interact with adults on the job.
How long will it be before I ask one of my new coworkers if they have to go potty? How close is my new office to the timeout step? What happens if I’m at a business lunch and out of habit I try to cut up someone else’s spaghetti? Can I put grumpy people down for a nap?
I’m hopeful things will work out. My new job is a great one worth the long wait and the coworkers I’ve met all seem very nice. I’m sure they won’t be offended, though, if I say the best part of each workday will arriving at Sofia’s daycare, watching her run to me, yelling, “Daddy!” all the way.