Mommy Brain

When I was pregnant, I had an excuse for every careless or stupid thing I did. When I threw my keys in the trash can, “pregnancy brain!”. When I took a drink from the salt shaker, “Ugh! Pregnancy brain!”. When I ended up at the church building instead of work, “I’ve got pregnancy brain! Badly!”. Once Gideon was born, the stupidity didn’t stop. But I no longer had a good excuse for it. That is until I heard of “mommy brain”.

Losing a few IQ points doesn’t seem as bad when you can chuck the dead brain cells up to being a human incubator, and then to being a full-time – as in from the moment your head leaves the pillow to when it flops on it again only to dream about caregiving until it’s time to leave the pillow again – caregiver for someone else. Never once did I ever dream I’d be picking someone else’s nose, wiping someone else’s drool from my face, fishing for someone else’s ear wax, and removing someone else’s toe jam.

So when you leave Target, put your seatbelt on to leave, hear a knock on your car window, and see the cashier holding up your bag of merchandise, cut yourself a little slack. If I did it, so can you. Last night I botched a pretty expensive meal, and today my husband found a forgotten bag of groceries in the trunk. Rotten eggs, fermented grapes, and stale jerky. How I missed a bag of groceries? Easy. Mommy brain!

I may feel cognitively inferior, but I must be doing something right. Otherwise, how could I have such a precious little boy and patient husband? I have no idea what I’m doing most of the time, but whatever it is, I’ll keep doing it because it gets me this:

my boys

my boys.

Confession time: What do you blame on mommy brain?



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