Saturday night, 2:00 A.M., 2002: I sing my heart out and shake my booty on a stage at some club somewhere between Maryland and Connecticut; the crowd hollers and dances at my feet; the lights are hot and bright and I'm sure I'm the shiniest thing in the place.
Saturday night, 2:00 AM, 2012: Kamal vomits in my ear.
So, yeah. Ten years makes some difference. I'm proud, though, that the parts of me that really define who I am in the world are unchanged, that being a mama, while a profound life shift, still leaves me wholly recognizable to myself; that I'm me whether in hot pants and high heels or maternity leggings and Adam's old socks (or, for that matter, in my lab coat and take-me-seriously pumps). Resourceful improvisation; real interest and connection in the people around me; a perpetual readiness to view every unpackaged, unpolished and unconventional experience as an adventure and every difficult experience as the foundation for a fabulous joke; an unusually high tolerance for looking completely ridiculous: these qualities served me then and continue to serve me now.