The following is rated Pre-G

In the before time, the long, long ago (approximately 18 months ago), life was different.

I did laundry once a week, on Sunday. Granted, it took all day, but that's because I kept forgetting I was supposed to be doing it. A typical Sunday afternoon exchange in our house went like this -

Scott: "Aren't you doing laundry?" 

Me: (looking surprised) "Oh crap, I am! Totally forgot."

Now, that same conversation takes place about 5 times a week, as the anomaly is now a day without the dreaded load to wash, dry, fold and put away. I had no idea there would be so much. I expected a baby to create more. Of course, that's the joke right? No sleep and always washing clothes. I just didn't know so many of them would be mine...

Once upon a time, I had clean clothes. For an entire day. Ones I could even push to another day before popping them in the basket. Not only were there no mystery marks on my shoulders or muddy shoe prints on my thighs, everything smelled nice and none of my collars were stretched out. It's true; I have photos for proof.

There was a time when my water bill didn't look as if I was filling a municipal pool every day. From the moment the G-man came home, the water hasn't stopped flowing. Making formula. Washing my hands a billion times a day. Endlessly cleaning bottles, baby plates and utensils, sippy cups and toys. Running a bath every night. The self-breeding laundry. Turning on the dishwasher constantly to clean up after cooking for him. And now his two favorite hobbies: playing with the hose (turned on, of course) and washing his own hands, which appears to be necessary whenever he even sees a sink.

Prior to mommyhood, Costco-sized items lasted a while. A billion pack of paper towels could stretch an entire season. Now, we go through a full roll at least every two days. Tissues were a big consumable but not nearly the hot commodity they became during this past winter and into the spring. Milk and soymilk could actually expire before we got around to using them up.

If you knew me in the olden times, you saw a woman with makeup. Hair brushed. Jewelry on. You knew a person that complained about getting only 8 hours of sleep. You marveled at the fact I could go almost a week without having to drive somewhere. You hated that I always had a cold house in winter and put off turning the air conditioning on in my car or the house until practically Labor Day. You waved to me at the adult pool. You met me for lunches that lasted longer than 30 minutes before someone screamed and/or threw food.

Yes, in the beginning I could pop out for an errand without needing a sherpa to haul all of my stuff. I was late to things but never this late. Parties started at 7 instead of ending at 6. I could meet you on a moment's notice. I worked during the day instead of at night. The only stopping I had to do on walks was the result of Tino the lollygagger, not because a pacifier was missing, a shoe was down, a tantrum was starting.

Pre-G, I read books. I cooked meals from scratch. I cleaned my house (ok, not so great, but I made a better effort). I made phone calls when I wanted. I even watched TV.

I wish I had made a time capsule. I would have included a wall that didn't have mashed potato on it; shelves that held real decorative items or books, not toys; a door without pencil "art" scribbled directly on it; a remote that didn't have to be hidden; a cabinet that didn't need a locksmith to get into; a dog that was clean, without food stains on his head or back; the snooze button; eyeglasses without fingerprints; and money in my bank account.

Then I would have lovingly tucked the capsule away and gone to make race car sounds, cheer someone on for going dookie in their pants or create play doh hats for a frog. Because in the before time, the long, long ago, life was different. But not necessarily better.