Forget me not

The baby brain has hit me hard. Much harder than last time, although with my brain foggy to start with, there was never much hope for me I suppose. Since the girl child has come along I've forgotten so many things.

I've forgotten Bobbin's appointments, to reply to emails (or have written them and then forgotten to hit send so they lay there in the draft and I wonder why they never replied to me), names, to return library books, to go to kindy, what time Map Guy is due home, you name it, even Bobbin's birth date!

Last week I forgot to buy eggs so I went to my parents' house at 9:20pm to get some to make a special cake for morning tea the next day then forgot to take said cake with me. Clever.

I've adjusted somewhat and now just write down everything. My phone beeps at me every five minutes it seems, reminding me of yet another task I don't really have time for. If it doesn't beep for a while instead of feeling relaxed I just feel anxious, wondering what I forgot to put in a reminder for.

So when I went to the hospital the other day for Bobbin to have a hip ultrasound (she has had clicky hips from birth) I was floored when I walked in to the imaging department and all the memories of being there with Tricky came flooding back. Bam.

Holding Bobbin, my breath caught in my throat and I had to focus on breathing slowly to stop myself from crying. Not that a parent crying there would be anything out of the ordinary. No one would bat an eyelid.

Because it was the only chair left, I sat in the exact same spot I sat in waiting for Tricky's CT scan when he was 11 weeks old. Nothing had changed in the three years since I had been there last. The yellow walls, the blue signs and the completely depressing atmosphere in spite of the cheesy smiles of the cartoon characters plastered all over the walls.

I remember sitting on the hard plastic, feeding Tricks, trying to make him sleepy so he wouldn't have to be anesthetized for the scan. A miscommunication meant we were waiting in the wrong spot and the other staff thought we hadn't shown up. I was getting frustrated and angry - this was my child that was having to wait but then I looked around and realized it was everyone's "my child" waiting in a snowed under department.

I don't feel traumatized by Tricky's rough start. To be honest I think that in the scheme of things Craniosynostosis is pretty minimal, really. Still, it was pretty huge to us at the time - the biggest thing I've ever had to deal with - but when all is said and done it is not the end of the world. It isn't life and death. A couple operations and it's all over thankyouvermuch. So I was so surprised that this visit to the hospital affected me the way it did. That the memories surged back so vividly.

At Bobbin's appointments, the doctors were all very gentle with me, carefully explaining the ins and outs of hip problems in babies and seemed really surprised to see me not fussed either way.

I felt like laughing when they asked if I was OK each step of the way. "Are you kidding? You should see what my last kid had!". 

It may seem heartless but I the idea of her maybe needing a brace and a few ultrasounds and xrays didn't bother me. Perhaps it is because I had clicky hips as a babe. Maybe because I figured she'd just rock the frog look for a while and I'd be dressing her in green and calling her Kermy to complete the look. But either way, I didn't see it as something to worry over. And as it turns out, there was no need because she doesn't need the brace anyway.

The time we spent in the hospital with Tricks, and now these few appointments with Bobbin means we have seen so very many seriously ill children, some of which may never go home. Our brief foray in to the medical world has taught me to be grateful for what I have. So a wonky noggin, asthma, clicky hips and the like are nothing. So I might be forgetting to reply to your email but I won't forget how lucky I am to have two gorgeous kids.

Bobbin completely chilled out for her ultrasound

Time

Time is a funny thing. It shifts constantly, from lightning fast one minute to dragging on endlessly the next.

The nights. Those are long. Really long.

I'm so much better at falling asleep these days, but I had forgotten how exhausting being up and feeding every hour or two is. Bobbin has also been partying in the wee hours, right when I've hit that zombie zone, making the night feel even longer still.

But the days are zooming past in a manner that makes me think I've somehow stumbled on to the TARDIS. My to do list is growing as I manage to tick off only the basic tasks like have a shower and get dressed (and some days not even those). Other things, like do my taxes, write some blog posts, reply to emails, fill out Bobbin's baby book and register her with Medicare? Well they keep getting pushed down the line and just aren't happening. And this is with Map Guy being home to help (read: doing all the cooking and cleaning with a Tricky sized shadow).

I have to keep reminding myself that she's only three weeks old today. And that all I'm meant to be doing right now is looking after my kids. That not answering emails right now isn't rude. That asking dinner guests to bring dessert isn't being lazy. That sitting in front of the TV and doing bugger all once both kids are in bed because I'm absolutely shattered after only 4 hours of broken sleep a night, isn't slacking off. It's just life with a newborn. And that's OK.

I wouldn't expect anyone else to get back to their usual routine immediately, so I don't know why I expect it of myself. So I'm giving myself permission to take it easy, to just be with my family and not feel guilty about it. There are only so many hours in a day and this snuggly newborn stage will be over before I know it. I'm going to soak up every possible minute while I can.

Do you give yourself permission to just be? Do you find it hard?

And then I nearly got run over. By my own car.

I'd like you to picture this as you read it. Try really hard. It makes it so much better if you remember the convex nature of my belly.

The other day I was trying to enrol Tricky in kindy for next year (wait, what? He can't be old enough for that yet?) but the school we wanted him to go to, because he's been attending the pre-kindy program there since the beginning of the year, let us know via a lovely "too bad, so sad, ask again next year" letter that they didn't have a spot for him. Damn you, catchment areas. I shake my fist at you.

Being a waddling 40+1 weeks pregnant I thought I better get off my ass and find somewhere else before Bobbin arrives and takes up so much of my days that I only remember to call the school after everyone has left for the day.

I got all the way to the school and got Tricks out of the car before realizing I'd left his birth certificate at home. I didn't think a blog post saying when he had been born would count and I wanted it done yesterday so I clipped the boy back in and headed home again. Confused the kid a bit but no big deal.

There is a reason I'm telling you this boring back story. I need you to realize just how poorly my synapses are firing right now. Let's continue.

At home I got out of the car and decided that since I was only going to be two seconds (his birth certificate was just inside the front door in the don't-forget-to-take-this-spot) that I'd leave Tricky in the car in the driveway. I turned the car off and took the keys with me, blipping them to lock the doors as I stepped away.

In my post-dates preggo brain I forgot to put the handbrake on. And to put it in park. Clever, huh?

I got to the front of the passenger side, a whole six steps away, when the car started to roll backwards towards the road. Shit. With Tricky strapped in the back. FUCK.

I ran. As everybody knows, running is a skill I do not normally possess. But I ran. Do you know how quickly cars can roll? Bloody quick. It was going faster than I usually back out of the driveway.

I fumbled the keys out my pocket as the car gained momentum, desperately trying to unlock the door. The locks popped up and I swung the door open.

Now I was running backwards. The car was picking up speed and was forcing me back faster than I could go. I couldn't keep up and I kept slipping, grazing the tops of my feet on the concrete and banging against the open door as I stumbled. 2.1 tonnes of steel pushing me relentlessly.

If I fell, the car would have run over my arm and shoulder. Because of the angle I was at, maybe my head. Though brain activity wise, I'm not sure if anyone would have noticed the difference.

But all I could think about was how scared Tricky would be if the car smashed in to the car and house across the street.

I lunged my feet toward the peddle and missed, twisting my leg around in the hip socket (the hip that had been giving me grief but was getting so much better in the last few weeks). Another two blind backsteps being pushed by the weight of the car and I lunged again. I hit the brake peddle enough to jolt the car and wipe some of the momentum off just as it was heading up the driveway across the street, heading for the neighbour's car and house.

I jumped in and slammed my foot on the brake. We stopped. In the neighbours driveway. A metre or so away from their car. We hadn't hit anything. If a car had been coming up the street I don't know what would have happened. The whole thing had taken less than ten seconds. 

My body was shaking and I turned to Tricks who looked wide eyed in his car seat, "Are you OK?!". His lip quivered slightly then he said "I was only a little bit scared".

Tears pricked at my eyes, "Mum was too, mate. But we're OK now."

"I could give you a hug if you want, Mum?"

Yep. That started the tears.

Thanks to this adventure I have had a mean limp for two days, a couple of gnarly purple bruises on my arms and legs (a massive one on my ego), some grazes on my feet and one broken fingernail. Could have been worse.

Bet I'll never, ever, ever leave it off again. Ever. 

Ever left the handbrake off? Felt as much of a dick as I do right now?

I need Mary Poppins' carpet bag

I've hit week 34 of the pregnancy now and I'm starting to get really excited to meet Tricky. What will he look like? Will he be cute? Of course he'll be cute to me, but I will be ever so slightly biased since he is my spawn.

According to all the books (yes I've read ALL of them – the staff at my local library know me by name now) now is the time to get your hospital bag ready to go! Many people have been caught out with bub arriving earlier than expected so the general consensus is to be mostly packed around now. So the all-knowing books and websites have lists of what to take with you – and apparently they all think I'm going to be thousands of kilometres away from home for a few months because the amount of CRAP they want me to pack is ridiculous!

Apart from some real gems like differentiating between 'day clothes' and a special 'going home outfit' for yourself (who says I will get out my PJ's anyway?) they also recommend water spritzers to keep you cool, a hair-dryer (uh, slightly busy with an infant), thank you cards (again, slightly busy), and the entire back catalogue of Celine Dion (you want me to be suicidal?).

I've always been a fantastic packer for holidays; one overnight bag can last me a week simply because I don't like waiting at luggage carousels for a bag that may very well be on its way to Greenland. So I thought packing for these few days would be easy too. Wrong.

For starters my dressing gown (which I'll be wearing a lot since that bit about not getting out of my PJ's is pretty close to the truth) whilst so soft, fluffy and lovely is HUGE and takes up half the space already! Is it bad form to turn up at the delivery suite wearing it just because I can't fit it in the bag? I don't want to be one of those women who take eight pieces of matching luggage and then only open two things, but I am NOT going without my dressing gown. The standard underwear and toiletries don't take up too much room so the next big hurdle is the breast and maternity pads – those things are massive and take up much more space than I had imagined - valuable dressing gown space I might add. I know I can unpack the bag as soon as we get there but I might be slightly busy swearing my head off and announcing loudly that this is all Hubby's fault.

Luckily the hospital I'm going to provides everything for Tricky so all I need to take for him is a 'going home outfit' so that I don't steal their precious singlets. For him I've chosen a cute little polka dot number (given to me in February as a very early baby shower present from a friend going overseas) for two reasons; firstly that it is super cute and says “I'm new here” and secondly because it is size 0000 and Tricky is expected to be a bit of heifer and might only fit in to it for a few days.

So the bag is mostly packed except for the few things we'll have to grab on the way out the door (like the camera - for photos AFTER the main event, not during) and sits pride of place in the bedroom near the door. I'm sure in the coming weeks it will be packed and unpacked numerous times and the nesting urge increases (I've already cleaned the bath twice this week), and that just makes me think I'll leave something out in one of the re-packs and will have to check it all again when in labour! With severe mumnesia I'm sure to forget something too!

Pregnancy has turned me in to an old man

If I was standing next to an old man its quite possible you would have trouble telling us apart. The belly could be mistaken for a beer gut, so if it wasn't for the enormous pregnancy-enhanced breasts I'd be offered a senior's discount wherever I went. I've morphed from being a normal 20-something in to a geriatric within a few short months.

Another mummy-to-be and I were discussing this phenomenon at yoga the other day. The old man symptoms have crept up on us but are now full blown:

Walking pharmacy
I take so many different tablets now that my local pharmacy has increased it's profit margin by at least 200% on my sales alone. Whilst I'm not your standard old geezer meds like panadol osteo or warfarin, I too, rattle when I walk
Heart burn & indigestion
On top of all those pills inside me that sound like someone playing the maracas in the distance, I always have a stash of Quick Eze or Rennie's on hand for when Tricky starts playing with matches again. At yoga a few of us even have them sitting next to our mats ready for an attack during 'downward dog'
Slow and steady
Walking pace is a subjective concept – for me its more of a 'hobbling pace' and then only when supported by a handrail. I'm considering investing in a walking frame mainly so that I can have a seat with me at all times for when I get tired
Complain, whinge, moan
I'm generally a patient person... not any more. I catch a bus and train to and from work and the number of bloody teenagers that stare at me through their long emo fringes from the comfort of their seat while I stand, glaring back at them, is astounding! The little buggers on their 50c fares... As you can see, I get a little worked up about it. If it's not 'kid's these days' then its the weather.
Dither dother
As I explained earlier, the mumnesia has hit me hard. I liken it to early stage dementia
Strange obsessions
Like most preggos suffering baby-brain when it comes to baby related things I'm sharp as a tack. Old men may prattle on about trains and the war, my talents lie in being able to tell you the fibre content of that muffin you're eating, the names of all the pain relief drugs available in birth (by both their manufacture name and brand name) and can also reel off a list of statistics on birth interventions. Yes, I'm that boring.

I'm prepared to acknowledge that I've just listed the qualities of a stereotype, but hey, stereotypes are based in fact a lot of the time. Just look at the pregnant woman stereotype – fits like a glove!

Mumnesia

New research published this week by Professor Christensen at the Centre for Mental Health Research in Canberra has concluded that neither pregnancy nor motherhood had a “detrimental effect on cognitive capacity”. In layman's terms: Baby Brain does NOT exist! Instead the study states that any 'mumnesia' effects felt by pregnant women are caused because we expect to get it.

What about me? I thought I'd get the Glow and that turned out to definitely not be a self fulfilling prophesy. I also thought that Baby Brain was just an excuse that pregnant women used to excuse themselves when they did something silly. In general, preggos have a lot on their plate what with impending doom, oops I mean birth, so it seems natural that a few things would slip their mind. Surely this could be kept under check with a good diary though? Well that's what I thought, and my diary has all my appointments listed and, I'm slightly ashamed to admit, colour coded. Turns out that pink highlighter wasn't worth the $1.50 I spent on it...

My brain has turned to mush. If you could peer inside my head I'm sure it would look like a slightly grey-er version of mushy peas. Though I'm not entirely sure they'd taste great next to fish and chips or on top of a pie.

I've always taken a bit of pride in being known as a smart one. Even around my closest circle of friends where I'm the only one that didn't finish a university degree (my friends are engineers, cartographers, geophysicists and pharmacists etc.– any profession that you need a degree to be able to spell the name of is impressive to me), I can still 'talk the talk and walk the walk' with them, never feeling out of place. But since Tricky came along I have found myself not being able to spell or even do simple maths. For example; working 10am – 4pm recently I complained that I wouldn't get a lunch break because I was only working five hours, not the necessary five and half that warrants a meal break, and how was I to survive? It was then pointed out that it was six hours and I was therefore at little risk of fainting through lack of food. Lack of intelligence, maybe.

So if I'm acting this way and didn't expect to be, do my actions prove Professor Christensen wrong?

I started doing my own research (well I didn't go out and interview people, I just Googled it) because if there is one thing you can count on with science, its that the opposite conclusion has been reached by someone else.

A 2002 study from Hammersmith Hospital in London used brain scanning of women before and during pregnancy to discover an average brain size decrease of 4%. Our brain cells are shrivelling up!

A study of the brains of rats in 2008 by the University of Richmond, Virginia, discovered some things that mothers have known for centuries. Mother rats became braver (don't mess with my kid), five times faster at finding food (can anyone say Chocolate Magnum?), and better spatial awareness (the eyes in the back of the head phenomenon) than the non-mummy rats.

So what do you believe? Did you suffer from 'mumnesia'? Do you not have to turn around before saying “Put that down”? And more importantly will my ability to sniff out an unopened pack of Mint Slices at 50 paces deteriorate after Tricky is born?