Recently Tamar and Otto have had entries comparing their lives today with their lives four years ago. I can’t even think back that far. I compare my life today with just a year ago. That’s about as far as I can go.

It’s been a year since we moved back to the Bay Area. More than a year at this point—13 months? Wow. Just…wow.

Anyhow, as I think back upon my life now versus then:

In Los Angeles I had a half-time babysitter. Yes, twenty hours a week, four hours a day. Four hours a day when I could do anything I wanted. I usually wrote. Not as diligently as I could have, obviously, since you still haven’t seen my byline anywhere.

Darin worked at home. He was a very good telecommuter: fell out of bed, started work, put in his eight or nine or ten hours. He was ready for dinner at 5:30. 6:00 at the latest.

We ate out, a lot. When we didn’t go out, we ordered in. We had Maria’s Italian Kitchen on speed dial. When we cooked, I went out and did the food shopping, Darin did the cooking, and I set the table.

Then we moved to the Bay Area, and pretty much everything changed.

Suddenly I was a full-time mom. This was a shock for me. A big shock. I didn’t have a babysitter, and I didn’t have Darin at hand, at home, ready to watch the kids for a few minutes while I did whatever. It was all me, baby, morning, noon, and night. It was quite a while before I even discovered the Sitters Unlimited babysitting agency and hired someone maybe once a month to have the afternoon off. (The biggest problem with finding a babysitter around here has been the sticker shock: it’s $10/hour in Los Angeles, $15/hour here. Plus transportation fee. Plus tip.)

Writing? Pretty much no writing for the past year. I realize that there are plenty of writing mothers who manage to carve out a portion of their day and write despite taking care of little kids. I know this. For the past year, I have not been one of these moms. I have been adjusting to too many other things. I hope I have more of a handle on things now.

I will not lie: I did not immediately cotton to full-time mom status. Full-time parenting is hard. Not having someone to spell you is hard, particularly when you’ve been used to it. If there is one thing this culture is very good at, it is making you feel inadequate if you are not naturally Super-Mom. I have worked at this, bucko.

I have since found a babysitter for Friday afternoons and every other Wednesday evening (date night). A few hours to myself is such a luxury now. It seems absolutely incredible to me that I used to have twenty hours a week to myself. Ha!

I have not, as of yet, figured out how to keep the house spotless throughout the day.

Darin started going into the office each day instead of working at home. And, not surprisingly, he started working more: he had a new job, more responsibilities, was there on-site instead of dealing with everyone by phone. Getting out of there by 6 became the lower boundary of what he was aiming for, rather than the upper boundary. When there is no traffic, it takes him 20 minutes to get home.

Two little kids cannot wait until 6:30 to eat dinner. Trust me on this one. And corralling two little kids in a restaurant every night by myself…eh, no thanks. Once in a while is okay. Can’t do it all the time.

So the second biggest change for me has been that I learned to cook. I did not learn how to cook as a girl. I believe my mom had a phobia about having my sister and I near the stove, because when her brother was a boy he pulled down a pot of soup and burned himself badly. My mom was not especially thrilled by cooking to begin with, so no secret lore, no abiding love of cooking was passed down to me.

But now I have two kids and I have to feed them, preferably healthy food. Or something other than chicken dinosaurs and french fries all the time. I dug out Quick and Healthy I and II and the Joy of Cooking and dug in.

The biggest compliment has been that Darin has actually enjoyed most of what I’ve cooked. Darin, while the most supportive mate on the planet, is a die-hard foodie: he won’t lie about whether he likes something or not.

I still let him cook the red meat though. I am afraid I will cremate the meat.

Some interesting things have come about from this: I’ve gotten so bored with asparagus and broccoli (my favorite veggies) that I’ve begun eating peas again, first time since I was, oh, four. I actually bought tomatoes and mozzarella and prepared a salade caprese for Darin and me. This is the first time ever that I have bought tomatoes and prepared them. Ever.

I think I expressed myself creatively through my cooking. Well, whether I did or not, that’s what I tell people.

I’ve slowly begun meeting other adults, particularly other moms. I’m not the most gregarious person at the best of times, but a combination of Sophia’s sociability (did you know a four-year-old can have 86 best friends?) and my desire to talk to someone else whose age reaches two digits has forced me to be more outgoing.

I’ve started exercising again. I managed to hurt myself, of course, so it’s been periodic rather than steady, but after not having an exercise routine for a long time, I finally started moving the bod again. The Y having a child care area (see: no babysitter, above) was a big incentive. Having friends in the area who wanted to run with me also helped.

I feel much more like part of a community here. I walk around, meet neighbors. I read the local paper. I buy coffee from the local coffee shop, not the Mermaid.

I still feel a little off-kilter from the move, from the change in the various things. But, you know: that’s how you can tell you’re still alive, I guess.

By the way, to anyone who feels compelled to post a comment along the lines of, “You’re supposed to take care of your kids 24/7 and not have any help! You’re supposed to do all the cooking!”

Let me reply ahead of time: Bite me.

You’re welcome.