The mind grapes are feeling a little bit all squeezed out these days. You know, something like when you're playing Sorry with your kids and you go to take a card for your turn and you pick up from the already-turned-over discard pile and then turn it (back) over to see "Sorry" written on the otherside (from the card's branding) but you happily yell out "SORRY!" to your son and proceed to knock one of his pieces off of the board until your husband's incessant laughing clues you in to what you've just done. Or, just the little things like showing up at your daughter's dance class at 10am this morning and when no one's there getting all irritated that no one called to tell you that the class had been canceled, but then realizing that the class actually starts at 11am--not that after 7 weeks you should be expected to know the right start time--and then when you return an hour later you realize that you have not brought any dance shoes in the first place. Or remembering that same day at 3:45 pm. that you had a 9:30am appointment with the midwife you totally spaced. Just a few for-examples, of course.
The thing is, even though Adam assures me that when I'm not pregnant that I'm usually one of the sharper knives in the drawer, for years I've actually been feeling like I've got the exactness of only a butter knife. I'm pretty sure that every time I bend down to pick up a toy off of the floor that a little bit of my brain drips out and is lost forever.
9 comments:
all the more reason you should clean your floor more often.
LOL at what Melin said -- who is this person to treat you so cruelly?
I have my own story from this evening to rival yours, (LOVED that story abt. playing Sorry, by the way,) but instead of writing a really long comment I think I'll go put it in a post on my own blog.)
I'm glad I didn't do the long comment here because even on my blog it's far too long (the brain-drained part of the story is kind of in the middle, and involves an unplanned pharmacy trip.)
I think I've got the exactness of a plastic knife (and just as proof, first I typed spoon, then fork, then finally got it right).
Who cares about every hair returning to our head at the great and wonderful ressurection? Let's here it for brain cell restoration.
I'm with Anna on the brain cell restoration.
by the way...I think I meant "hear it for" not "here it for"
see? no brain.
Ooh, I'll subscribe to the "every time I bend down to pick up a toy a little bit of my brain drips out" theory! Guess I'd better put off cleaning the playroom for one more day, huh?
Oh man, if that dripping thing is true, I am in big trouble. I swear that's all I do all day anyway. I am worse when I am pregnant, but I am pretty sure that it does not all come back. Scary thought. I am just going to end there because it's hurting my head to try and think and tune out my kids.
I seem to be getting stupider and stupider and I'm not pregnant.
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