Mommy Brain: Real or Myth?

“WHAT DAY IS IT?” I blurt out, like a Rain Man non-sequitor.

Generally, it doesn’t matter what day it is. My days tend to flow into one another. The saying “Same shit, different day” takes on a literal meaning with a toddler.

“It’s Friday?” my husband mumbles, clearly mirroring my own confusion.

“Crap, I was supposed to meet Reid 10 minutes ago! I’m late!” I say.

In vain, I try to gather a presentable-to-society outfit. I try to text my friend, as I race out the door. His number isn’t in my cellphone! How is that possible?! I rush to the restaurant. What? He’s not here. I check his emails on my phone…

Our plans are for NEXT Friday! Oh! Duh...and crap! 

(Later, I notice that his number was actually on our email correspondence.)

I am out of practice about having a “real” life. You know, meeting friends and such. Does my scatterbrained state of confusion suggest I'm suffering from the proverbial “Mommy Brain”?

It’s true. I exist in some sort of vague reality that's off the

time/space continuum. I have morphed into a toddler state of mind, complete with fairies and unicorns.

Yet, I struggle against the “Mommy Brain” cliché. I want to believe it’s an old wives’ tale. “Mommy Brain” seems to add to the stereotype that moms (particularly of the Stay-at-home variety) aren’t current -- that we have lost our edge and are no longer “productive” members of society.

It’s why I put “real” in quotes above. I mean I have a real life! It’s just not my former life.

Is my child literally making me lose my mind?

I do see evidence of “Mommy Brain” all around me. I am more likely to know the words to a song from the movie, Frozen, than the hot topic of The State of the Union address. I’m more apt to read Dr. Seuss than Dr. Anyone Else Adult.

The other day, our family went out to brunch. The waiter asked me if I wanted more coffee. I looked at the table and said, “Uh, I can’t find my cup.” The waiter responded generously, “Um, ma’am, It’s in your hand.”

I didn’t make this interaction up, folks! Maybe, I should be blaming it on my toddler!

So I googled “Mommy Brain”, and found some interesting stuff. It turns out that our babies aren’t the only ones growing. According to a study, the grey matter in mom’s brain actually grows too! It gets bigger in the areas of the hypothalamus, prefrontal corext and amygdala. These areas control emotional regulation, motivation, planning and foresight! Not bad, mamas!

The authors of the article do suggest that memory lapses, such as forgetting names (or that one’s coffee cup is in one’s hand), may be due to a shifting set of priorities.

I like that one better too. I would rather say that my priorities have changed to caring for my daughter than to say I have “Mommy Brain”.

Yeah, I’m going with that one, and with the fact that I have a bigger brain since having Claire!

What do you think? Have you had "Mommy Brain" moments? Do you think "Mommy Brain" is real or an old wives' tale?

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Welcome to The Sunday Parenting Party, hosted by Dirt and Boogers, Play Activities, Crayon Freckles, Taming the Goblin, The Golden Gleam, Prickly Mom, and The Tao of Poop. The SPP is place for readers to find ideas on nurturing, educating, and caring for children, as well as honest posts about the stresses of being a parent or caregiver. Links to reviews and giveaways are welcome as long as they are relevant to the topic. All parenting philosophies are welcome with one exception: please do not link to posts promoting physical discipline, as this is something we would feel uncomfortable having on our blogs. (P.S. By linking up you agree that your post and photos are Pinterest, Sulia, G+ and FB friendly. We will be showcasing ideas on The Sunday Parenting Party Pinterest board.)

 

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Check out this week's fab features:

Sadder but Wiser Girl, Fly on the Wall
Left Brain Buddha, Mindful Parenting
Finding Ninee, Autism, Sometimes I'm not ready

Life Happens

I don't have a bucket list. I've never been the five-year plan type. I don't like to make lists. Whenever I put something down on paper, it means I have to do it. I don't like anyone telling me what to do, even if it's me. It's a wonder I get anything done.

Really, much of my life has been guided by the John Lennon truism, "Life is what happens while you are busy making other plans". When I'm 80 and sitting on a rocking chair, I think I will remember the things that kind of just happened to me.

I didn't plan on marrying my husband six months after I met him. I didn't plan on waiting to have my daughter until I was 44. I believe that these things happened by the grace of God.

Bucket lists always include travel. My most memorable trip was a complete fluke. An acquaintance told me she was going to Ecuador for her cousin's wedding. I said, "Wow, I'd love to go to Ecuador." She said, "Wanna come?" So I went.

The day of the wedding, a gaggle of family matriarchs were eyeing me up and down, and talking in Spanish.

Two minutes later, I was a bridesmaid.

Someone explained to me in English that one of the bridesmaids forgot to show up. I was rather unceremoniously packed into a maroon bridesmaid's dress that was two sizes too small, while another more anticipated bridesmaid was having her dress hemmed with duct tape.The Roman Catholic priest conducted the service entirely in Spanish, a language of which my knowledge is sketchy. Everyone stood up, sat down, stood up again. I remained a beat behind, with no clue what was going on. The reception hall was sandwiched between a circus on one side and an auto body shop on the other.

I wish I could share some of the pictures from the wedding with you, but they are all packed away somewhere. Most of them show me laughing hysterically at how surreal the experience was.

I could go on. Ecuador blew my mind. The people took non-planning to a level that made me uncomfortable. I marveled at their genius ability to roll with life, and have fun no matter what the circumstance. The trip was a once in a lifetime experience that I will never forget. The country of Ecuador is beautiful, it's people welcoming, it's food divine.

So in honor of my husband, my child and a trip to Ecuador, my bucket list includes:

1) Seeing where life takes me.

2) Striving to teach my daughter, Claire, to appreciate where life takes her.

3) Inviting anyone else who would like to join in to come along for the ride.

There's an unofficial #4 to add to this bucket list: I am finally linking up with Finish the Sentence Friday, something I have been wanting to do for awhile. I am so happy that I've been able to get over writer's block and write off the prompt "My Bucket List Includes" (even though I kinda wrote a non-Bucket List). Big thanks to one of the FTSF hostesses, Stephanie, for encouraging me to contribute a post.

And in the spirit of things not always working the way you planned, I cannot figure how to paste the FTSF button. So...if you would like to join the Finish the Sentence Friday Party, allow me to introduce you to your lovely hostesses:

Stephanie, Mommy for Real

Janine, Confessions of a Mommyaholic

Kate, Can I GetAnother Bottle of Whine

Dawn, Dawn's Disaster


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Photo Source: Garrett-btm, Deviant Art

Mothering, Mussolini-Style

The Demas family had a bad morning getting out of the house the other day. Or perhaps it's more accurate to say I had a rough start. 

We were off to a family get-together and the stars were not aligning for a swift exit. Usually, my stellar time management skills make up for the added tasks that a baby implies. Bad circumstances along with poor strategic planning made this trip different. 

First, Claire would only go to mama. George and I usually attack getting ready by handing off our daughter to one another, like a baton in a relay race. On this day, Claire had other things in mind. As did the weather, which decided to change seasons overnight. Locating and ironing clothes for both Claire and me with said daughter on my hip is not in my repertoire. While working one-handed, I was reminded of a sick challenge devised for a competition reality show like Survivor (except that I had no chance of winning a million dollars for my efforts). 

What's more, I was shuttling between the bedroom and the kitchen to make the dish we needed to bring (nothing like waiting 'til the last minute).  In general, chopping, mixing, and stirring while a child hangs on my apron strings wears me out. Add a deadline to get out the door, and I feel I'm going to boil over like the pot on the stove. 

I know what you're thinking: "Couldn't the free-handed husband cook and/or clothe the child?" To this query, my martyr self replies, "No. He would have ruined it".

I was actually pulling off most of the shitshow. It’s part of an illness, actually -- trying to push myself beyond my own limits to see what I am capable of doing. I end up feeling sickly proud of myself. The flip-side of the coin is that I feel exhausted and resentful as well -- bad for me and bad for the people around me. I remind myself of Mussolini, keeping the trains running on time while losing track of humanity altogether. 

Babies have a way of finding your Achilles heel, though. My obsession with productivity can make me forget what’s really important -- being in the moment, enjoying my child and husband, respecting my own needs and those of the people around me. 

Sorry, Mr. Mussolini, we will just have to be late next time.