You know what astounds me about science? It’s widely regarded as the standard by which any number of things should be evaluated, and yet in many cases it’s—how do I put this delicately?—really, really dumb. Science says it isn’t true that ingesting sugar makes children hyper. Really, science? I guess you’ve never experienced the joys of trying to put children to bed on Halloween after they have reaped the rewards of trick-or-treating. Maybe you’ve never been to a birthday party and witnessed the harrowing aftermath that ensues once the kids devour the cake and ice cream. However, I have, and I can tell you that you are dead wrong. Sugar absolutely makes kids hyper.
Guess what else our ol’ pal science says is an old wives’ tale? That more babies are born by the light of a full moon than any other time of the month. Ask any L&D nurse or midwife, and I bet he/she will tell you that the crazies aren’t the only thing the full moon brings out. It brings the babies, too! (And incidentally, isn’t it just fascinating that a falsehood is called a wives’ tale? Can I get a show of hands from those who agree it would’ve been way more appropriately named a husbands’ tale?)
But the most egregious scientific denial—in my book, anyway—is that mommy brain doesn’t exist.
Let me tell you something, stupid ol’ science: mommy brain does exist. It’s real; it’s documented; and it’s happening all over the world. You might want to take some notes so that you can whip us up a remedy, because I’m about to blow your mind with what precious little is left of mine. Before having children, I was the type of person you would’ve labeled “on the ball.” I’ve certainly never kept my living quarters uber tidy, but I definitely knew where everything was located within the strategically controlled chaos. I paid all of my bills early (and I’m talking way back in the dark ages before I had autopay to thank for that); I moved seamlessly from one task to the next, steadily checking items off of my (laughable) “to-do” lists; and when I walked into the pantry, I damn sure knew what I went in there to retrieve.
Since having children, all of that has changed. In fact, of all the things I knew would be different in my life after having kids, the one change I didn’t anticipate was the complete degeneration of my brain. Now, to be fair, my brain has actually grown in innumerable areas since having children. I have, for example, mastered the fine art of doing pretty much everything with one hand, as my 18-month-old son, God love him, rarely lets me put him down for longer than two seconds at a time. I am also now proficient in toddler speak, whereas in my pre-children life the speech patterns of anyone under the age of four sounded like the screeches of an errant jabberwocky to my untrained ears. I can carry so many things at one time that to see me loading up the car with all of my paraphernalia (and children), you would swear that I had sprouted at least three unique appendages to help shoulder the load. So, yes, I have conquered some feats that I never before thought possible nor necessary for survival, and while I certainly appreciate the addition of my newfound talents, what I’d really like to be able to dazzle you with is my incontestable recollection of what I did yesterday. But guess what? It ain’t gonna happen.
This mommy metamorphosis has been a real eye-opener for me. I now regularly find myself caught up in a frenetic little dance that has me spinning all over the house and looks something like this: I’m in the situation room (aka: the laundry room) washing my daughter’s sheets and thinking about how we need to replace her toddler bed with a real “big girl” bed, when I dart to my computer because I need to see whether that Target sale on kids’ furniture ends today or tomorrow. Gotta strike while the iron is hot, you know? And oh yeah—since I’ll be heading in that direction, I need to inventory the freezer to see if we are low on that Archer Farms crustless quiche, since my daughter is on strike against every life-sustaining substance except that quiche. And yep, I think our freezer is definitely on the fritz. I’ve got to call someone to come take a look at this. Stuff is starting to melt in there. Gross. That ice cream is going to be really delightful to clean up. SHOOT! Did I forget to RSVP to Susie’s birthday party? Oh, no. What did I do with that invitation?! Maybe I left it in the kitchen drawer… Wait, what is that?! I thought I sent in that bill already! Please tell me I sent in that bill already…
If you’re a mom reading this, please tell me that the above scenario sounds familiar to you! You’re in the process of completing a load of laundry or another seemingly mundane and easily mastered task, and 45 minutes and countless neuron fires later, you’re no further ahead than when you started and, in fact, feel so behind and overwhelmed you just want to crawl under a rock and wait for the world to pass you by. Which would be an option, I guess, if the baby weren’t screaming at you to feed him…NOW! At the end of your day, you take a good look around, see no major improvements to the overall aesthetic, and wonder what in the heck you did to feel as tired as you do. And what?—we are just supposed to sit back and accept this as a normal part of the human experience? Heck no, people. This is mommy brain.
And so is this:
It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas. You approach the season with blissful serenity knowing that you’ve wisely accumulated thoughtful Christmas gifts throughout the year. With just a couple of weeks left before the big reveal on December 25th, you and your calm self set about locating the presents you wisely hid many moons ago so you can get them wrapped and under the tree. After you fail to unearth them in your “gift (aka: bathroom linen) closet,” you retreat to your next hiding place: the top shelf of the hall closet. When all you find there is the kids’ Easter baskets and a few mismatched candlesticks, you start to get a little anxious. You check a few more places with no success and then launch into full-blown panic mode. With a pace and fervor that would put the Looney Tunes‘ Tasmanian Devil to shame, you hit every store known to man and buy whatever you can remotely convince yourself is relevant to each person on your list. After you’ve terrorized the last overly-helpful store employee, you exhale knowing you have somehow managed to single-handedly save Christmas.
Several weeks after the hoopla is over, you are putting things away and open up the cabinet underneath your media center, where you store your seasonal pillows. And there before your weary little eyes are bags, bags, and more bags. I mean, seriously, who puts Christmas presents in media centers? Well, you do, Kemosabe, so look alive. More shocking than their location is the content of the gifts. I mean, what a shame your family had to receive replacement gifts instead of these, because girrrrrrl, these are some good gifts! Gifts for which you can’t even be totally sure you deserve credit since you don’t remember buying them but that fill your little mommy heart with pride nonetheless. “At least I won’t have to shop for birthday presents this year!” you tell yourself with a conciliatory sigh.
So, yeah, I don’t really care what science has to say on the matter. You can’t tell me that a perfectly good (OK—who are we kidding?—intellectually superior) brain can just deteriorate the day you become a mom and try to explain it away as aging or hormones or leprechauns playing tricks. Unless doctors across the world are united in some weird conspiracy to secretly perform lobotomies on moms in delivery rooms, we all just have to come to terms with the fact that moms’ brains instantly and irreparably change the instant we welcome our bundles of joy into the world.
And now that we’ve agreed, I’d like to propose a solution: I implore the makers of Viagra to redirect a paltry 5% of their annoyingly excessive advertising budget to research our condition, because I feel certain that at that level of financial backing, we could identify and fund a cure. Probably within about three months. So fork it over, Viagra. Because let’s face it: we need access to our pre-mommy brains way more than we need access to the organ that your product restores. Well, OK. Most days.
“I didn’t anticipate was the complete degeneration of my brain. ”
thanks for setting the women’s movement back a decade.
Like any new job, or lifestyle there is a learning curve, mastering the balance of motherhood takes time sometimes a long time. You don’t have “mommy brain” you’re learning a new way of living your life.
There are plenty of misogynists out there trying to convince the world that women, especially mothers are dumb, over emotional, and incapable of managing their lives effectively. This is Not the kind of message I like to see being promoted by a website/blog that is meant to lift women up and bring them together.