Lactating has made me soft

I was talking with a friend today. This friend and I met in mechanics school. This is almost a decade ago now. At that time I was newly my own person and on a dream filled road to restoring vintage cars in my own garage in some back water town. That was the dream. Not for everyone to be sure but it fit me like a jumpsuit. At that time I shaved my head a lot and the biggest Italian guy in the school confessed to me during a smoke break that he was kinda afraid of me. I smoked back then too. I was still kind, still smart, still witty and sharp but I was perhaps sharper. I was willing to bathe my hands in toxic chemicals and endure crass sexist jokes. I reveled in dark bruises acquired through hard work and wanted to prove that I could hack it just as much as any guy.
My friend is still in the mechanics biz, in fact he has graduated to larger machines and diesel engines. Me, I left it all and eventually had a kid. After that I couldn't imagine putting myself in a toxic environment (literally, not the emotional kind) as that would mean bringing some of that home to my kid. I was not okay with that. So my tool box of impact sockets, torque wrenches, drum brake tools and the like stayed in the basement waiting for the unlikely day that I would for some reason need them.
So after two floods in our basement I was yet again drying off my unused, unloved tools and wondering why they were still in my life. As I was saying I was talking to my friend today and I asked him to come over and take what he wanted from my tool box. He said "you don't want them any more?" And I said that they were just taking up space and that I was never going to use them again. I jokingly told him that lactating had made me soft. We both laughed and agreed that that was just fine. In fact it's great. I wouldn't trade my life for anything