When new mothers and parenting books and magazines talk about "baby brain", they are referring to the mushy substance between the ears that is one of the many side-effects of childbirth, and sometimes pregnancy. Even a normally super-organized, efficient, multi-tasking woman like my (former) self falls victim to it’s seemingly endless effects. Suddenly, simple tasks like taking a shower or eating a balanced breakfast become feats of wonder when done in the daily chaos of babycare. Thus, other simple tasks, like turning on the oven or stove, require much more thought and care. Otherwise, disaster may occur.
Case in point: no less than 3 times in the last 2 weeks have John and I succumbed to the ravages of baby brain. Ok, twice it was my fault, but once was definately John’s!
1. John had turned on the oven in the hopes of making a nice dinner (which he does most of the time – what a truly beautiful thing!). He instead turned on an element on the stove, the element which the pizza stone was resting on, without realizing it. As we were standing next to the stove, discussing the day, John holding Emma, there was a loud SNAP! We looked to see the pizza stone cracked into several pieces. Putting 2 and 2 together, John realized his error, and the resulting irreperable pizza stone which had been so lovingly used before… now we are going to be subjected to delivery.
2. I, in another simple task of sterilizing my breast pump, filled a pot with water, put it on the stove, and turned it on. I then went about my daily chaos routine, only to return to an odd smell and a cold pump. I had turned on the wrong element and thus heated up the pot lid which had been resting there. The lid was an eerie white colour and the oven mitt melted to it when I picked it up.
3. Once again, in the simple task of sterilizing my breast pump, I filled a pot with water, put it on the stove, and turned it on. This time I did turn on the right element… Alas, I did this before church on Sunday and promptly forgot that it was on. On the way home, I had to stop at the store to pick something up, so I dropped John and Emma off at home. When I returned, the garage door was open, so I assumed John was inside the house. I entered the door and gazed wonderingly at the haze of smoke. I ran up the stairs, glimpsed John out in the backyard, and automatically assumed he had put lunch on and forgotten about it in his romp through nature with Emma. When I got to the stove, there was my pump, melted into a drippy, brown puddle of plastic, only a few surviving bits sticking out, like they were trying to save themselves. John, as it turned out, had no key and so was standing in the backyard awaiting my return.
These, my dear friends, are just a few examples of what baby brain is capable of. Beware! You too may fall victim, for no parent can escape!