Truth to tell, it was a hard adjustment for me from carefree childless person to full-time mother. Now I take my role for granted. I don't notice the change, and I don't think there's anything very unusual about my life as full-time caregiver for three small children. If I think about it at all, it's in terms of how difficult it is to get the laundry, cooking, and housework done each day. My envy doesn't center around the hours of leisure other non-parents are enjoying, it has more to do with how easy it must be for them to fold an entire load of washing in one sitting. Or how they don't have to pick up toys from every room in the house. I guess I think that's all that matters to people, since it's all that I have room in my life to care about.

But every once in a while, I go out with friends. Tonight I went out to Petroglyphs, where I and three girlfriends painted pottery for almost three hours, then to a Mexican restaurant, where we ate in a slow fashion, conversing the whole time.

 My evening started out with one child begging me not to leave, crying inconsolably at the thought of losing me for four hours. I didn't notice, as I drove away, any sense of freedom. In fact, I felt a little lost, as though I had no ability to focus on anything. I felt confused about what I was supposed to be thinking about, since I couldn't think about who needed what and how I was going to head off the next tantrum.

It was a little better when I got to paint, because at least then I knew what to do. As the painting wore on, and the desultory talk surrounded me, a strange thing happened. Without any sign, I became a different person. I didn't even know it was happening. I neither heard nor said anything earth-shattering, or even very interesting. I didn't make any discoveries, or have any new experiences that changed me forever. I just sat and painted. And then I went and ate dinner. It was all very normal. Everything seemed just as usual - until the moment I arrived home.

That was when I knew I was a different person. I walked into the quiet house, saw all the trappings of my former (and future) life, and was astonished. All the things I took for granted every day seemed so strange. A life with no minutes free, ever, of the responsibility for three little beings. A life driven by interruptions, with interruptions of interruptions. In my four hours away, I had discovered an echo of the person I once was.

A few minutes later, my three little all-consuming projects arrived home with their daddy. And without thinking about it, I responded to a request for a hug, then nursed the baby, then negotiated about a bedtime story. In no time, I was back in the groove. What was it I was thinking about before they came home? Oh well, it'll come back to me someday. Maybe when they grow up. Or maybe next time I go out with the girls for the evening.