I Have Awesome Pregnancy Brain

It’s so awesome that a year after Sophie’s birth it’s still going strong (and no, I am not currently pregnant). 

In hindsight, I should have known I was pregnant with Eli the day after he was conceived, the day I left my contacts in overnight, something I had never done in the sixteen years I had worn contacts, even in the throes of late-night benders, or Dr. Mario marathons, or… I had always taken my contacts out before laying my head on the pillow.  That is, until I became pregnant.

Hello, Pregnancy Brain.  Goodbye, contacts (that little stint resulted in an eye infection and corneal ulcers … yes, it was as painful as it sounds).

Had someone told me before getting pregnant that I would turn into an airhead, a fumbling idiot, a forgetful pro, well, I still would have gotten pregnant.  Sure enough, after I got pregnant and mentioned my increasing skill at mucking things up on a daily basis there were several confirmations of, “Oh, it’s pregnancy brain, that’s all.”

So in my mind I figured this meant that once you popped that kid out all would return to normal.  I was wrong.  Not only has my mind not returned to normal, the situation has taken a steady downhill turn since my second pregnancy and the subsequent birth of Sophie. 

For those of you with mental clarity, you won’t understand this.  You won’t be able to fathom what it’s like to forget words mid-sentence, to run to the store for two items only to return home with one of them, completely oblivious that you needed two items until the next day, you would never dream of putting the milk in the pantry, throwing your toothbrush away when you’re done brushing rather than returning it to the toothbrush holder, you wouldn’t run into the kitchen to grab a _______, shit, why did I come into the kitchen? 

It goes on.  And on.  And on.

You start doing shit like this as a senior citizen and they take away your car keys and put you in a home.

The worst part isn’t the memory loss, the inability to speak, the clumsy knee-jerk responses that are always the wrong responses. 

No, for me, the worst part is that during this fog known as Pregnancy Brain I have become incapable of making decisions.  I’m not talking tough, life-changing decisions.  I’m talking…

Vinny:  “Babe, do you want some cheese?”

Me:  “. . . . . . . .”

Vinny:  “Babe?  Cheese?

Me:  “. . . . . . . .”

Vinny:  “Umm, it’s a yes or no question?”

Me:  “. . . . . . . . I don’t know?”

It’s annoying, for everyone involved.  The questions are “easy,” and yet, my brain cannot find a way to formulate a decision in either direction, ever.  I sit zoned-out, appearing to be in the midst of some kind of enjoyable daydream when in fact I’m trying to figure out why the hell I don’t know if I want any cheese. 

Every decision feels momentous.  Sometimes I push myself to yell out a “yes!” or “no!” regardless if it’s what I want or not.  At least it’s an answer.

Then there are those out there (damn scientists) who doubt that Pregnancy Brain exists (go here).  They do not want to come face-to-face with any woman experiencing it and tell her that—just because we’re slow doesn’t mean we won’t beat you up.  

As is often the case, I try to find something positive in the situation, but so far I can't find anything positive about diminished mental capacities.  Sure, it makes for some good stories, some slapstick hijinks, but when you can’t even remember most of those moments…

But I’ve learned to cope, mostly.  I have turned into a write-it-down junkie.  If it isn’t written down (and sometimes, even when it is), it doesn’t exist.  If I can make and then find a list of groceries, errands, birthdays, reminders, etc., then the world continues to function on a somewhat normal level in our house.  But if I can’t…

So apologies in advance when I forget your next birthday, anniversary, the last conversation we had, what your name is, or how we know each other.  It’s not personal.  I promise.