If you don’t already know me in real life, let me explain something:
I am not the cute but ditsy one in the group. I am not the girl who’s forever loosing her mobile phone, leaving her keys at work or turning up late for everything because she got sidetracked and didn’t allow time for traffic. I’ve just never been like that and over the years it has led to a few conflicts with my more “faff” prone friends (you know who you are) but basically, I’m happy with who I am.
That is until I’m pregnant and the dreaded baby brain arrives.
I’ve posted here before about my belief that pregnant women should be treated as intelligent, rational adults and I still stand by that, it’s just that I’m well, a bit easily befuddled at the moment.
On Monday E had a longish nap in the afternoon, pretty normal after a busy weekend. I only started cooking once she was up and found myself rushing to have dinner ready for our normal time of 5.30pm. But I managed it and sat down to eat with her, surprised that I wasn’t at all hungry. Until I looked at my watch. Then the kitchen clock, and the one on my phone, and finally accepted that it was actually 4.30pm and I’d been an hour out all afternoon. E got a very, very long bath that evening.
Worse still, a couple of weeks ago I had arranged to meet some old friends at 3pm on Sunday afternoon. At 4pm on Saturday I got a text saying: “We’re all in the bar – are you ok?”
As if being a day late wasn’t bad enough I decided to pile just that bit more humiliation on myself. It had been a cold morning and I’d been out in the only coat that still fitted me, a large, thick winter coat and a scarf too. As I ran out the door, yelling an explanation to poor Fred, I pulled these on and it was half way to the station when I realised:
A- It was no longer cold – everyone else was in summer clothes and I was dressed for carol singing
B- One can not run in maternity jeans – that oh so comfy elasticated waist will rapidly head for the half-way down your back-side teenage boy look if you try
C- However ludicrous you look as a result of A and B, wearing a “baby on board” badge at the same time only makes it worse.
D- My pregnant and inappropriately dressed running speed is exactly the same as the cycling speed of the perfectly sane looking man taking his young son out for a bike ride – we kept pace with each other wonderfuly, apart from the moments I had to pause to hitch my jeans back up over my bum.
Sadly I know from experience that this isn’t just a first or second trimester thing, and even if it wears off after the pregnancy then the sleep deprivation of early parenthood will have much the same effect.
So if you do know me in real life, please take this as advance warning and apology for any future stupidity, hang on in there, I’m expecting my brain back in about er two years time?
PS – I know there are plenty of baby brain stories out there – anyone else care to confess?