I've been procrastinating doing something all week. Tomorrow is my last day to get it done. So, this morning I was thinking about how I had to get it done, and, feeling defensive, started justifying the delay to myself.

"After all," I thought, "how can I get anything done with a new baby and an active toddler? How can anyone expect me to get anything done beyond simple survival? I'm not sleeping, I'm spending huge amounts of time sitting on the couch and nursing the little one, half the time I have both of them crying at the same time, and when they're not they're about to start crying!"

But then I stopped myself. I had to admit, that I probably would have procrastinated this even before I had children. Or would I? I had to stop and think about it. What was I like before I had children? Had I already forgotten?

It's unnerving to realize that I don't recall what I was like exactly, before becoming a mother. I was childless for 34 years. How could I forget so quickly what I would have done then? How could I lose that part of myself?

It only took a little bit of thought to confirm to myself that yes, I was as much, if not more, of a procrastinator back then as I am now (I just have a nice convenient excuse now,) but it left me feeling unsettled. It's the first time since my oldest was born that I've felt like I'm losing myself. I'm not, not really. I've just moved on to a different stage of my life, a very good stage. I've no more lost that old me than a butterfly has lost the caterpillar it used to be, no more than I've lost any other part of me. And yet, outgrowing my childhood self hasn't disturbed me the way this has. I'll have to think about this. I guess it's harder adjusting to dramatic adulthood changes than childhood and adolescent changes.