When you're a person without children, your time is your own. From the moment you get up in the morning to the second your head hits the pillow for a full and glorious night's sleep in the evening, your choices dictate that day's events. Sure, you have to go to work to pay your bills, so you don't exactly make that choice. And everyone has certain daily obligations they have to meet. But those other 13 or so hours? Those are yours. Want to take a walk in the crisp fall air during your lunch hour on a Tuesday? Go for it. Watch two hours of reality tv uninterrupted on a Thursday night? Sure. Hit the gym for a yoga class on Saturday morning? Why not? And the only person you have to consult is your significant other, if you have one. And generally, you won't find a problem there, because he or she is likely doing the exact same thing.

Such was my life prior to August 22, 2006. And what a fabulous life it was, because ultimately, I am a very selfish person. I like my "me" time. I like deciding what I want to do and when I want to do it without input from others. Including Rich.

It's ironic, then, how incompatible I am with the core tenets of motherhood: selflessness and sacrifice.

Being Isabella's mom is the single most fulfilling thing I have ever done in my 30 years. Nothing even comes close, and nothing I've ever done has made me happier. And I would do anything to be able to devote myself to her full-time, which is something I never thought I would want. My love for her is so complete, that nothing even comes close. I am incredibly lucky to have her, against all odds. I know this much is true.

But I wouldn't be honest with myself if I said I had given up this former life without thinking back fondly, at times, of what it used to be like.

Because now, it seems, I have very little free time. At all.

In those all-too-brief moments when the little darling is napping, a million ideas as to what I should do with this "free" time immediately enter my head. I should remove the 15 inches of cat hair accumulating on the living room floor before that hair joins forces with the hair on the other floors of the house and suddenly I have a fourth cat. No, I should change the very rank sheets on our bed. Scratch that, I should sterilize my pump parts, or try to get in a daytime pumping session to keep up my milk supply. No, I should throw in a load of laundry. Or pick up her toys. Or spend some time petting my cats, whom I've been sorely neglecting. No, I should shower, because really, I stink.

And then, of course, there are thoughts of the things I want to do with the time. Maybe I'll work on Ella's baby book, which I haven't touched since just after she was born. Or get started on her photo albums. Forget it, I want to blog on one of the 15 posts I keep composing in my head. No, I miss baking, so I'll make something with pumpkin in it. Or take a bath. Or hit the treadmill. Or read the newspaper from five days ago.

But of course, by the time I've chosen one of these tasks, she's awake. And she needs to be changed. Or fed. Or walked around the house because she's fussy. Or played with. Or bathed. And my plan on what to do during her napping time? Scrapped. Again. And my husband sometimes wonders what it is I do all day long.

So the number one lesson in being Isabella's mom has taught me is this: selflessness. My time isn't my own anymore. I can't come down to breakfast at 8:00am on a Saturday, grab my coffee and read the paper for the next hour, as I used to do in the pre-Ella era. And even if I could run the five miles a day I used to run before becoming pregnant, I certainly don't have the hour to devote to that kind of run now. I can't up and bake a pumpkin cheesecake at 3pm on a Sunday, or write five to six blog posts a week, as I used to, either.

I won't lie and say that I'm giving up my former life without a second thought as to what I'm missing. That I'm some sacrificial super-mom martyr, who doesn't at times pray silently into her pillow in the middle of the night that Isabella will suddenly stop screeching because she's hungry, develop the ability to walk, and hit the fridge to grab herself a bottle. Or that her 45 minute naps would just last five minutes longer so I could finish my bowl of cereal. Or my shower. Or blowdrying my hair.

But being a mother is ultimately about selflessness and I believe you can't be a good one without it. Your time isn't your own anymore. If you're breastfeeding, in many ways your body isn't your own anymore either. And that carefully crafted life you constructed for yourself before she was born? Well, let's just hope it has a long shelf-life, because it's going to be sitting untouched for awhile. And if you blog, the Save As Draft button and you quickly become intimate friends. It's taken me awhile, but I'm finally beginning to reconcile all of this in my head.

Isabella is teaching me the fine art of selflessness and the even harder-to-attain art of patience, two characteristics which formulated the very antithesis of the Kristi of just two months ago. They're a work-in-progress, but I'm on my way. She's the center of my universe, truly, and I can't wait to see what other lessons she has to impart.

Now if only I could teach her the importance of remaining silent during McDreamy time. I think in a few years, she'll understand where mommy was coming from with this one.