My Scrambled Brain with a Side of I Already Forgot
I’ve recently come to terms with the fact that I no longer have a cohesive mind. I realize my kids need to wash their hands after they are already eating a fistful of strawberries and spent the morning digging for slugs. I can in one moment be thinking how reasonably King Triton dealt with his mischievous mermaid daughter and suddenly I remember we are out of peanut butter. I will be walking to the refrigerator to grab a sparkling water and then be completely side tracked by the dog or the doorbell and by the time I get back to the fridge, Maddie has nabbed my water and I accidentally call her Alexa—to which Alexa responds, “What would you like to order.” My former UCD-educated-mind, preferably one that remembers all my kids when I’m leaving the supermarket.
So now it seems only fitting I share with you some random occurrence that follow no particular theme or pattern because even if I wanted to follow a logical train of thought, I wouldn’t be able to find my keys to get there.
Having a third baby makes you worry less about the common milestones like walking or talking and worry more about what age they will start picking their nose and eating it in public.
Yesterday, I used my hair dryer that I haven’t used on myself in 6 months, to dry off Barbie’s outfit as suggested and requested by my 5-year-old.
When my baby doesn’t poop for more than 3 days, I will dress her in an outgrown outfit I’m prepared to throw away.
As I loaded up my herd into our minivan and used my bare hands to wipe someone’s snot, I thought about how my current situation is the exact opposite of whatever it is people do at Coachella.
While some Mom’s may have been busy the night before Easter filling their kid’s baskets and hiding eggs; I was stuffing Ariel costumes and princess dresses into upper cabinets, so the only outfits my daughters could find to wear were pre-screened and approved for Easter brunch.
As moms we are busy—constantly thinking for or about our tiny humans: I wonder why they act tired but won’t go to sleep and for the love of Velcro and slip-on, “Please go put on your shoes.” We don’t have the luxury of only thinking about ourselves, which leaves us with a brain and life that often resembles an egg; scrambled, over hard, but never over easy.
