Attention: Mom brain is (very) real

I have a friend who is kind of like Google. She knows everything. She texted me a week ago to tell me how overjoyed she was that she found a Latin course online for free. I texted her to say I like pudding and nachos (something I am equally excited about.) Next time I’m wanting to read 100 Years of Solitude though…(yes, I had to look that up) I know who to call.

Also, if that happens, she should be worried because I’ve probably been abducted by aliens.

I am forever grateful for my friend and her vast knowledge of obscure things. I use her as a sort of brain crutch and text her things like—“Do I like guava kombucha?” and “If I mix vinegar and bleach will I die?”

She is now 9 weeks pregnant with her first, and last night she went to flush a banana peel down my toilet.

Dear friend,

Mom brain is real. Sorry about that.

In your honor, I have compiled a list of things that definitely happen to me barely ever all the time. You may or may not want to prepare for these things to happen to you. Or just get a tattoo that says, “I am not crazy, just tired.”

Tattoos look good on you, so maybe do that.

Love,

Jess

My magic with words.

I give really good mom-speeches to my kids about how potatoes are not soccer balls, and “No more than one” marker tattoo on your illiterate little sister that says “boys rule.” I’m feelin’ real good about my magic with words, but their eyes are glazed with confusion.

“Mom, why did you tell Haven to stop singing soccer balls?“

The usuals.

Throwing away keys. Putting ice cream in the refrigerator. Losing 17 debit cards in a row. Leaving the car running for four hours. Forgetting English. Telling my friend I don’t have any brothers, when clearly, I have a brother. Normal stuff.

Three trips to the grocery store for one meal.

I am terrible at grocery shopping. I have friends who do a trip a week. I salute you. Have you considered starting a business to do this for other less skilled people? I come home with taco shells, sour cream, salsa and three things of raspberry fruit bars, feeling very pleased with myself.

At 5:30 I realize we are not vegetarians.

The one thing I have going for me is that I’m usually wearing a delightful combination of high-water sweat pants, snow boots and left over mascara my first grocery run of the day . I’m pretty sure they think I’m two different people.

I used to be a good student.

Now my hand writing is not legible, and I would die without auto-correct.

When someone asks me a question and I feel like it’s a test.

My palms get all sweaty, I’m going to have to REMEMBER things.

“How was your trip?”

“What trip?”

“…your trip.”

“Oh! When I went to Seattle on Monday….right. I don’t remember.”

Or there’s the classic…

“How are you?”

“Gooooooooooooood, hahaha.” (I have no idea.)

Leaving my child’s shoes at the library.

How does that even happen? How did I successfully walk to the car with my kid, never realizing—oh hey—they don’t have shoes on. Were they walking in their socks? Did they steal someone else’s shoes? I don’t even know.

Appointments.

That is all. I really can’t talk about it without my heart rate rising. I will just say that things that include the words “drop-in” are more my style.

Losing all the things.

I learned a long time ago to stop using the words—“I think my phone, purse, ID, credit card…were stolen.”. Oh…right, my phone is right here, in the underwear drawer (obviously.)

Cooking mishaps.

Making brownies for my friends that are the consistency of tree sap and not at all chewable. Shattering our front window because I preheated the BBQ (for an hour) right next to it, and setting all the utensils on fire because I forgot to open the lid.

Randomly screaming.

Everyone is peacefully walking out of Costco when I see a SUV coming our way. I can’t get the words out fast enough as I see my four year old turn to get a wrapper off the ground. In decibels not safe for the human ears I scream—“STOOOOOOOP!!!”

Only thing is, Oaklee is still holding my friend’s hand and the Suburban of Terror was turning into a different row.

Guys, in my mind, it was real. I was having a heart attack—and now you are. You’re welcome.

Asking my friend to read my blog before I share it.

Mostly to make sure I didn’t say anything insane. And if it is insane, that it’s at least funny-insane.

Carry on, Mama! You are AWESOME. Remember, NONE of us are perfect. We are just a messy band of sisters, showing up and doing our best in the most flawed of ways.

This article was originally published on the Wonderoak Blog.

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