Missing Things

First a confession: Years ago one of my favorite volunteer guides at the Morris Arboretum started describing his philosophy on life. He commented that he had only worked at jobs he loved and that every Monday morning he was excited to get back to work because he had missed it over the weekend.
I did not react by thinking, "Oh, I should pursue jobs like he had," or "I need to find my bliss", instead I thought, "poor man, how boring have your weekends been?"
I have been fortunate in having had jobs that suit me well. I love science, I love plants, I love teaching and I take great pride in jobs well done, whether they are paperwork or sales. Still, I enjoy my weekends and there have been very few times I wouldn't rather just stay in bed and read Harry Potter* instead of going to work.
This is all background for a prevalent question recently: "Do you miss your job? Are you ready to go back?"
When asked this, the school the Mister and I teach at had been back in session for exactly a week. In my very small department, we'd already had a student intentionally OD on Tylenol, a student withdraw from his classes because of cancer in the family, and alarmingly increased quantities of bureaucracy with a new department chair trying to adjust to new levels of middle management.
I did not give the full truth answer to the question, which is something like this:
"I miss regular showers and sleep.
I miss my parents, my friends, and everyone else.
I miss eating meals at the correct temperature at one time while sitting down.
I miss starting a simple task, like sending thank you notes, and knowing that I will be able to finish a part uninterrupted.
I miss desperately miss the time when my boobs and bras were not a dominant portion of my waking (and unfortunately also my sleeping) thoughts and
I very much miss the time when a day a did not cry (Thursday this week I didn't!) was not a noteworthy event**.
I do not, however, miss my job."

*A dear friend in graduate school was concerned that she wasn't cut out to be a scientist because, she admitted with trepidation, many mornings she would rather just stay in bed reading Harry Potter than go into the lab or sit in front of the computer. I think she was somewhat taken aback by my response to this confession, "Uh, who wouldn't?"

**Fortunately for the species, nobody who doesn't have a newborn can fully relate. Yes, I know, billions of people go through this all the time, but they forget. Heck, I've already forgotten the desperation of two weeks ago when Dianthus wasn't eating and my breast was infected and I had to pump after every feeding. In another month I'll have forgotten how hard it is to deal with a one month old still too small for carriers, chairs and swings but a little too big to sleep all the time.