Since I birthed my first offspring in early 2014, I’ve been suffering from a severe case of #mombrain. It hasn’t always been this way, I swear. I used to have a memory like an elephant. I’d remember names and faces and song lyrics without even thinking about it! Now? I’m lucky if I remember to eat lunch.
I write things down. I have a calendar. I set alarms and appointments on my phone. Do I still manage to remember anything? Nope! I know I’m not the only woman to suffer from this embarrassing affliction.
When our daughter Taylor was born, I brushed off my newfound forgetfulness as a side effect of long term sleep deprivation. I became pregnant with Sloan,our middle daughter, when Taylor was only 9 months old so I chalked up my continued aloofness to pregnancy and having a toddler. I became pregnant AGAIN (with our third daughter, Chandler) when Sloan was only 9 months and just forget it. I’m impressed if I remember my name most days.
Now that Chandler is nearly three years old, I’m not sure I can blame my persistent #mombrain on sleep deprivation, and definitely not on pregnancy. Sitting down to write this blog post, however, really got me thinking about forgetfulness and memory – and I’d like to share a few of my posits on the topic.
My pregnancies were all incredibly miserable. I gained 50-60 lbs with each child, and swelled up like a water balloon. I vaguely recall having days where I was certain I was dying. And yet…when I think back on my pregnancies, I just don’t really remember the bad parts. My memory tells me, “Oh, it wasn’t that bad!”.
Sleep deprivation and colic seemed like insurmountable issues while we were going through them, but in retrospect? I could handle it again. It certainly wasn’t THAT bad, was it?
Potty training. Miserable at the time. But on the other side of it? It was just a blip on the radar of motherhood.
Maybe our #mombrain is there to just soften the bittersweet stings of being a mom. Maybe the #mombrain is like opening a parachute as we jump blindly into parenthood. It eases the burden of how difficult this job is.
And hey, forgetting to pick up the dry cleaning for my husband, despite his 473 reminders? Well, that’s just an added bonus.
