If someone asked you, what is something you’ve done that’s had a lasting impact on you, what would you say? Skydiving? Backpacking through Europe? Starting a non-profit organization?
For me, it was being pregnant. There were a lot of special moments I treasured, like knowing I was never alone, seeing his hair and big feet in the last ultrasound before his birth, and watching my husband say silly things in a very loud voice to get the baby to move (it didn’t work). I still savor these moments even though baby Christian turns one this month.
And then, for most pregnant women, there are those parts of pregnancy that are memorable for not such fun reasons:
- The realization that being able to bend at the waist is pretty dang convenient,
- An appreciation for having a waist,
- The acceptance that snoring is not just for men,
- The shocking reality that you can’t turn from one side to the other in bed without shifting your weight ten times,
- And pregnancy brain.
Lucky for me, I only had to experience the first four of these. I should be thrilled I was so lucky, right?
I got the pleasure of experiencing post-pregnancy brain instead. For the first six months of Christian’s life, I trained myself to stop asking my husband Dale, “Where is my phone?” Instead, I started brainstorming with him to narrow down the universe of possible locations of my device. This exercise never included naming any “normal” places like on the kitchen counter, in my purse, or on the bed, because my brain was anything but normal during those sleep-deprived days.
“My phone isn’t in the refrigerator,” I’d say to him. “It’s not in the oven or the dryer. I didn’t leave it on top of the car this time.” Smile. “What about the dresser? Did you look in the drawers?” After a few weeks of this mega waste of time, I decided to just let it stay lost for awhile, unless Dale was around to call my phone so it could alert us of its location.
As if this wasn’t bad enough, things were elevated to the next level when I went to Costco with a girlfriend. I stocked up on all the usual things, and then tossed a gargantuan bag of chocolate chips into the cart because it was time to get back into my baking groove.
Two days later I opened my trunk and gasped. There was the bag of chips. I’d unloaded everything but them. When I picked it up it was a melted bag of gooeyness. Great. I’d committed chocolate abuse.
That bag still sits in my pantry as a painful memory of my mental incapacity. Now if I want to bake with chocolate, I have to slam the bag into the back patio concrete to break it into useable pieces. This is wrong on so many levels.
What bizarre or funny things have you done when mentally out of it?