I’m sure everyone’s heard of “baby brain”. I’m also sure that those who haven’t suffered from it assume that it’s a make-believe disorder coined by mothers, in an attempt to make themselves feel better about their sudden inability to speak and/or perform simple tasks. Having personally suffered from this condition I can confirm that not only is it real, but apparently also permanent. Mike is a big fan of baby brain and sums up the multitude of symptoms by referring to them as TIAs (which is basically the short form for mini stroke). These occurrences happen all too frequently and, because it’s me we’re talking about, usually in public. A recent example took place while paying for an item at Coach (which is dangerous in itself). The saleswoman thanked me for my purchase at the same moment I was about to thank her. At the last millisecond I decided that it might end up sounding weird. Kind of like when I ask someone “how are you?” to which they usually reply “fine thanks, and you?” causing me to say something brilliant like “great! How are you?” – And so forth. So I changed my mind. In the brief moment it took me to decide against ‘thank you’ and whether or not ‘you’re welcome’ was suitable, what instead came out was the word “honest”. Yes, honest. Later when I described this TIA to Mike, he assumed I would have made a joke to divert the awkwardness. Sadly I did no such thing and instead watched her puzzled face as she repeated the word back to herself in her head. I said nothing, grabbed by bag, and left. Sometimes you just can’t come back from something like that and it’s better to just carry on as if it never happened. File it away in your memory under ‘cringe-worthy’; subcategory ‘baby brain’.
Speaking of which, one of my favourite moments took place last month. I pulled up in Vanessa (my van), just as the Purolator truck stopped at the foot of my driveway. Maybe it’s the child in me, but every time I see a delivery truck on my street I get this excited, butterfly-like feeling and hope that maybe someone sent me a parcel. Usually it loops around the cul de sac and drives past, but this time it stopped right in front of my house. You can imagine my level of enthusiasm as the delivery guy said hello and then stood up to retrieve what I knew would be for me. There was no mistaking it. So, without thinking, I said “please tell me you have a big package with my name on it”. Oh yes; that happened. Obviously. Much like my experience in Coach, I just stood there like an idiot and watched my words register across his face. I could have made a joke – honestly I don’t know why I didn’t – but instead I signed for my “big package” and went inside. I’m sure it happens all the time – especially with perverts, which he likely assumed I was. Come to think of it, my address has probably been flagged and I’m going to receive some kind of sexual harassment pamphlet in the mail.
Anyway, in case you know a mother and she does weird things like fills her car up while it's still running (yep, did that one while 8 months pregnant with Isla), or leaves a stove element on all day long (did that one too), or forgets how to spell the word ‘who’ (“hoo”); wait until she leaves the room to laugh at her. It’s not her fault. She used to be smart – and maybe one day will be again. Kids are like shop-vacs, sucking the intelligence out of those who gave them life. I’d like to say it’s temporary, but clearly I’m still its poster-mom. Time will tell, I guess. In the mean time I'll just try to look pretty and hope no one listens to the words coming out of my mouth.