I had a life once.
I just want to be clear about that.
In this former life, I wore things that weren’t maternity jeans with peanut butter and jelly smeared on them. I went to movies and dinner with friends. I ate ice cream for dessert without worrying about it. I stayed up late watching movies. I slept in if I wasn’t working. If I wanted to go somewhere, I put a jacket on and went. I didn’t think about diaper bags, extra clothes, sippy cups, finding a coat for the toddler, finding the keys the toddler had stuck under the couch cushions, finding the shoes the toddler had thrown in the toilet, getting into the car(finally), only to have the toddler yell, “Mommy! Poopy!” and then have to unbuckle toddler, take toddler back inside, change stinky diaper, re-dress toddler, and go back to the car and leave, an hour after I started in the first place.
It was a good life. One I really liked.
I have no complaints or regrets.
So, really, it wasn’t that much of a life, after all.