I was out in the real world last night, a downtown poetry reading by Li-Young Lee. Nary a kid in sight. Afterwards, a friend I was with bumped into some friends from work.

Diana: This is Debby. She used to teach with me at Shoreline.
Friend: Oh, where are you now?
Debby: Home with the kids.
Friend: (Eyes slide away)

When I first quit my job, I was terrified of just this situation. I was afraid I wouldn’t have an identity anymore. I remember one friend saying, “Well, you can always say you are working from home as a freelance writer.” Which is absolutely true but only 10% of my life right now.

Two years into the gig, I rarely try to have an identity other than Rose and David’s mom. I know myself. I know I don’t have to apologize for being a mom. Introducing myself that way is sort of an in joke (between me and me)—this is just my disguise; really I’m still the same hard thinking, politically invested, poetically engaged, and dance happy me I always was.

She just didn’t stick around for the punch line.