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Tomorrow morning, I will get up an hour before my children.

I will take a shower, shave my legs, and blow dry my hair.

I will go into the big makeup bin for my good stuff as opposed to the eyeliner, mascara, and lip gloss I leave accessible in the medicine chest.

I'll put on clothes with buttons and zippers not ties and elastic, clothes neatly pressed from the dry cleaner without peanut butter and spit up stains.

I'll put on perfume and a cute pair of shoes.

I'll grab a purse smaller than Rhode Island when I leave.

I'll drop my babies off at their dayhome, kiss their little heads goodbye, and get back in my Explorer.

I'll sit in traffic for the next hour and curse at many people during the 53-mile drive.

I'll go to the front desk of the giant office building and get buzzed in.

The receptionist will re-activate my badge.

I'll walk to my desk, put my purse down, and go see all my friends and colleagues, before I go in to meet with my boss.

I'll be busy all day catching up on the last four months I missed; a new system has been installed while I was away and I need to learn to edit all over again in this new way.

I'll show people pictures of my new baby and of how big his sister is getting.

I'll be a proud momma. I may even miss his sweet fuzzy head against my lips or her goofy grin when she wakes up from her nap.

But I'll have me back.

I'll have a part of me that's just mine again.

Tomorrow, I go back to work.