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In the evening, after coming home from work, I feel as if I had been robbed. Tired, I find the two of you (the baby, you) awake and cheerful. It is not jealousy I feel, this theft is much subtler. Not that my work (and the hours of absence it entails) could diminish the baby’s presence, yet the two are at odds. Work is like a law of nature that everyone is subject to, and to which everyone submits with the greatest conviction, but the baby does not work. He is a nonworker in everything he does. And that’s how I feel: as if when I’m at work, my nonwork is being stolen.