I went to two adult birthday parties this weekend, and had a ball, in no small part because they included the chance to hang with the under-two set.

I don't mean to imply that my grown-up friends are not engaging and enjoyable company. I thrive on their presence, too. But there's something uniquely delightful about sharing a smile with a beautiful six-month-old who is fascinated -- FASCINATED -- by your clunky necklace (and your beer -- no, sorry, sweetie, you can't have any, not for twenty-and-a-half years). And about a toddler chanting your name in between gales of laughter at his own cleverness, for which you are both accomplice and audience.

Not-quite-two-year-old Asa came to my rescue at party number two, Sunday afternoon. I had been there just long enough to settle my gift and pick up a plate of snacks when my introvert-overload sensor went off -- I realized that I had been around people enough for 24 hours, and any more small talk, however pleasant, was going to be positively draining. I wanted to be there out of love for the guest of honor, but given my druthers I'd have run home for a nap.

As I said to Asa's Mommy when they arrived, he looked like I felt -- shy and a little sleepy. If I had had a mommy present in whose skirts to hide my face, and if that had been an acceptable action for someone old enough to be a mommy herself, I would have liked to have done so.

But Asa and I got our second winds as he eventually grew comfortable enough to detach himself from Mommy's leg, and I took to following him around and keeping his fingers out of electrical sockets so that Mommy could talk with the other grown-ups for a bit. It was refreshing not to have to form complete sentences for a while. We ran up and down the hall. We played with a toy yellow bus ("beep-beep!") and a soft multi-colored ball. He showed me his furniture-climbing skills. He fed me grapes. He offered to feed me jam off of tiny sticky fingers, but I declined. I gently pulled his persistent hands away from the salsa bowl. (I did not quite succeed in keeping him out of the cake.)

I can understand my friends who are mothers needing to have a quota of adult interaction in their lives. I think I've always implicitly understood that, even when I was still a child myself. (Although I don't think I understood that I myself might not count as an adult.) What I haven't understood so much until recently is my need, as a non-mother, to have children in my life. Thank God I have friends with kids to remind me of that, and create opportunities to fill that need.