Is motherhood making me stupid? Yes. I don’t know…wait…what was the question?
Yes, I do believe motherhood is making me stupid. Stupidier. Stupided. Stupiding.
Whatever.
My brain is turning to mush.
Not too imply that before my egg was fertilized I was a genius, or even highly intelligent. But I was doing okay for myself. I could carry on a conversation about things other than baby measurements, car seats, and diapers. I spoke about topics other than how to puree baby food, the difference between a diaper rash and a rash caused by teething, and music that didn’t involve sentences about big red cars or trot ol’ Joe. I would never have had a conversation with someone about breast engorgement, nipple blisters, or C-section scars.
But today, the above is all I know.
The only type of news I’m able to follow and understand are entertainment stories. If you want me to read another uninteresting article about Jennifer Garner, fine. It’s simple, easy, mindless. Perfect for me. Ask me to read something about politics, science, or…something else a smart person wrote and you’re asking too much. You’re asking for a miracle, because I know those articles have words with more than six letters. That’s A LOT of letters!
I may be able to subsist (somewhat poorly) on five hours sleep but that’s the only miracle I’m performing these days. Unless you count getting my daughter dressed while she’s practicing jumping; when I see her in a diaper, shirt, AND pants I admit I do feel like a small miracle has occurred.
But back to my shrinking brain.
I can no longer do math.
I tried to multiple 12 by 7 the other day and I found it challenging.
“Ok seven times two is…right 14 and then… 14 times…no…oh right! Carry the one and then…” Was how it went for many many minutes.
I also tried to figure out what our down payment would be on our new house—in my head.
Big mistake. Because it actually hurt my head. I was in pain.
Speaking proper English has become…difficult.
I say ‘gotta’ way too much and the other day I said a sentence to my husband that made me sound like I had been raised by white trash wolves. I can’t wait for my daughter to start school so that she can teach me how to properly structure a sentence again.
“Where does the noun go? Why do I need a preposition? What’s wrong with a double negative?”
My imagination is virtually gone.
I rotate three meals now for dinner. By 5:00 pm I am so tired that to come up with a meal that is nutritious, tastes good, and is relatively simple to prepare is ludicrous. So I alternate. One meal a week is nutritious. Another one tastes good. And the remaining one is simple.
My husband has begun to refer to them by color.
When my husband attempts to have conversations with me about things other than poop, the park, or the Wiggles I’m lost. Really, it’s like he’s speaking a whole other language.
Sometimes I can't help but become irrated with him when he tries to have a conversation with me. Is he doing it on purpose? Is he trying to make me feel stupid? Does he think its funny to watch my expression turn to one of complete panic when he brings up a subject that involves complex thoughts? Why does he speak to me with so many words? Why isn't he singing to me about flowers and ponies?
I want to yell at him, "Can't you see my blank stare! Don't you see the drool running down my chin? I no speaky proper English!"
But hopefully if I just play along for a little while longer my brain will start to get the hang of it. Maybe it will even start to grow big again.