After story hour, we sat with our knees above the little table in the children’s section, one young mother and I, surrounded by our broods. The children pounded salt dough flat and squashed cookie cutters into it to produce lumpy vehicles. They dangled their creations inches from our faces so we could admire their work. Charlie squashed and tasted. “Yuck! Charlie! Don’t do that!” He peeled off another tiny piece of dough and tasted again. “How many children do you have?” the young mother asked. “Five.” I said it the way I always do. Nonchalantly. She answered with a typical response. “Five! How do you do it?! You seem so calm. You look too thin, too young to have five children. Five?! I puffed up, just a little, though she couldn’t see, and responded truthfully, “We are having the time of our lives. The children are at the best age. I am treasuring every moment.” We said goodbye a few minutes later at the library desk. Her children checked out a handful of books and I stood behind her...