In my extensive research, I have learned of this thing called “Baby Brain”. It’s this situation where, your brain like, starts… what was I talking about?
Zoning out mid-conversation, forgetting your purse at the restaurant, calling a number and being surprised at who answers the phone… those kinds of things are, I suppose, the symptoms of this phenomenon.
I am not speaking from experience. I’m all up on top of things.
I like to tell myself that. Because I hate to blame my own absent mindedness on the baby.
Exhaustion? Definitely Baby Dub.
Weight gain? The Babes.
Break outs, sensitive gums, swollen feetsies, all are totally The Child’s fault.
But blaming an inability to focus, forgetfulness or general air-headed behavior on this whole gestation business? Seems like a cop out to me.
The other day I came home, ravenously hungry on my lunch break. I proceeded to tear into a frozen Griller patty and get that sucker on the burner to crisp it up, fast-like. I toast my bun, slice my cheese and veggies, and when the Griller has reached the desired level of “doneness” (as done as a soy patty can be, I suppose), I blast that sucker in between the two slices of tasty bread and chow down. I eat a few other things before the lunch hour is over, I have to admit. I proceed with my day as usual.
Coming home from work, I am greeted by The Hubs in all his dirty-booted glory, who has kindly sliced me up some cheese and cracker snacks and is being wonderful in general. I decide that the favor must be returned in the form of an epic meal of some sort, cooked on our stove. I fill a pot with water to boil, move to the stove… and the burner is on.
Not on low. Half-cocked between “Off” and “Full on flames.” And has been on all afternoon.
Do I blame Baby Dub for this? No way, dude. I’ve done this before. Not to that extent, but one time Zeb and I left the burner on low all day while we galavanted about in the Tricities. Yes, this is the first time that I’ve left a blazing fire on the stove for 4+ hours. But I refuse to throw my unborn baby under the bus for this act of negligence.
Let’s just hope that when Baby Dub arrives, my only “Baby Brained” behavior is that awesome-sounding sixth sense that moms get about diaper changes and feeding times. I am not sure that Zeb and I even have a fire extinguisher in this house.