Today, as I sat poolside watching my son splashing around with other children out of one eye, and my daughter backstroking across the pool to her instructor with the other - which is a very neat trick I'm close to mastering, by the way - I became very aware of the stillness that hovered around my blanket. My three-year-old snored in her stroller, worn out from being three all day, oh my GOD it's so exhausting. I just sat there, and gave a wave and a thumbs up everytime one of the older two kids caught my eye.

I just sat there, and yet all around me, mothers trapped squiming toddlers between their knees as they tried to apply sunscreen one more time. Mothers lay back on oversized towels, with their crawling babies rambling up and over stomachs, under bent legs, before making a dash for the place where the pavement drops off. Time and again, the other mothers leaped up, and sprinted in hot pursuit, capturing flailing, squealing little chubbers and hauling them back to the starting line. And I just sat there.

This just sitting business is still new for me. Had my three-year-old been awake, I would have been scrambling around the pavement, too. But still, she and I have started to understand each other. After her mad dash into the street and subsequent Mommy Freak Out Deluxe With Shaking And Bonus Nausea, she's aware that there are just some buttons you don't push, unless you want to have your future social life marred by a hysterical, dry-heaving mother.

So I sat. And I waved and I thumbs-upped and I admired my girl's chubby cheeks as she reclined in the stroller. All around me, the Lilliputans were giving their own personal Gullivers a friendly dose of hell, and I was just sitting there, an observer. The baby fat-rolls are gone from my children. The swirly, funny chicken hair and buddha bellies are long gone. In their places are long, tanned limbs and strong muscles, french braids and clothing not measured in months any longer.

Today was a glimpse of my future. I'm not sure I'm ready for it.