I used to have brains. Big brains. Like, off to see the Wizard to discover you already had brains, brains. Ideas that didn’t involve car seat buckling strategies. Ideas about life. Theories. I had things to say. Now, I just forget what I was going to say. What was I going to say?
|The square root of…hey….did I ever switch that load over to the dryer?|
With every pregnancy, 2 zillionths of my brain has been lost. A shit-ton (actual measurement) of lost brain matter, if you will. Most days, I can not spell words I’ve known my whole life. Octopus. No, octopuss? I call all of my children by the wrong name. Every day. I compensate for the guilt by concluding that it only endears me to them as you always most want to please the person who easily forgets you.
I have a key hook which may as well be a magic portal to Narnia. Keys go there, but they never ARE there. Sometimes, I will find my key ring (AHA! BRAINS!) only to find that the car key isn’t on it, but, 3 sets of house keys are. WHAT? I don’t know. I have NO idea. How, you ask? This is your brain on kids.
My husband has come home to find I’ve left both sliding van doors open. In the rain. And has walked up the deck to discover the keys. In the door. On the same day. What’s missing…besides my brain? The sign that says: “Free Van and Family!”
I will be in the shower with shampoo on my head and I will think, “Where the hell am I in this shower process? Did I put conditioner on my hair first? How did I even get in here? What’s that sound? Where are the kids? Where’s what’shername? Did I wash my face? SHIT! It’s what’shisname’s snack day today! SHIT! Did I put conditioner on top of my shampoo? Why am I wearing underwear?”
I have a calendar full of reminders written in my handwriting with a pen I wielded and I generally forget to check said calendar. I walk past it, at least 100 times a day, but, it’s invisible to my brain. Then there is the flip side – I look at the calendar with no knowledge of writing items down. I look at the calendar. I look at my hands. I look to the heavens. Divine calendar writing? I check to make sure ink isn’t pouring from my hands a la stigmata. How in the? Who in the? Brains.
With baby # 3, I devised a clever system of placing a rubber band on the wrist of the side I last nursed on. BOOOOYAH! BRAINS! Only to go to feed and wonder if I ever remembered to switch the rubber band to the alternate side? Sleep deprived, raccoon eyed and caffeine thirsty, I’d stare at my wrist as if high. Stare. Stares. Staring. *Shrugs* Nevermind. What’s the matter, grey matter?
At each pediatrician appointment, I take notice that my childrens’ head circumference is growing. Growing with knowledge, growing into new hat sizes. Growing with my stolen brain. As they covertly and adorably activate the brain sucking transfer sequence, I marvel at how willing I was to let my brain go. How willing I was to do it all again. To become more Forrest Gump with each passing child. I may not know where my keys are, but, I know what love IS.
Load up, kids! The doctor says you are healthy and smarter than your mom. Everyone in? Everyone is buckled? Where are the keys? *Sees lovely, kind and sympathetic receptionist running out to van holding key ring* Sigh. Brains.
|This is your brain on kids. Any questions?|