Mommy Lobotomy

If you're a mother, chances are you've at one point or another blamed your chronic lunacy on "mommy brain", the relentless mental condition that plagues all moms at one point or another. 
In the ten months since Mackenzie was born I've lost my mind a million different ways.
It started as a rather innocuous condition. 
I mean, anyone can forget a baby, right??? 
Isn't it like failing to set your alarm or pick up orange juice at the grocery store?
OK, maybe not... but still... New moms are sleep-deprived and panic-stricken.  A true recipe for disaster. 
During the first few months of Mackenzie's life I had minor anxiety attacks each time I got into the car, fearing that I'd forgotten the baby at home in her crib. 
Or that I'd left the car seat on the floor of the garage with Mackenzie flailing inside.
Other early "mommy brain" symptoms include: washing your hair with conditioner, wearing two different color socks, and brushing your teeth with acne cream instead of toothpaste.  
But "mommy brain" only gets worse over time. 



There have been numerous moments in the last few months where I've had to stop the car at the end of my block to make sure I was wearing pants. 
A couple of weeks ago I nearly drove 200 miles for a baby shower that wasn't being held until the following weekend. 
And recently during my "other job" as a freelance news producer I actually began to tell my colleagues, "Mommy has to go pee pee" before I caught myself and simply announced that I had to use the bathroom -- as if anyone needed to know that in the first place. 
We all agreed that I needed to get out more and that the adult interaction was good for me.  
After all, think of how a mother's day typically plays out. 
You're home.  Alone.  With a baby.  Who can't talk.
You have a play date, or a coffee date with another mom whose company you enjoy immensely but all you end up doing is talking about your kids anyway. 
Then you go home.  With the baby.  Who still can't talk. 
When you speak you refer to yourself in the third person, practice the third and fourth  verses of "Mary Had a Little Lamb", describe aloud just about every damn thing you're doing, and punctuate each final thought with an overly zealous cheer: Mommy is making the bed. 'He followed her to school one day, school one day, school one day...', Mommy is folding the laundry, 'It made the children laugh and play, laugh and play, laugh and play...', Mommy is going crazy. Hurray! 
During my pregnancy, after deciding not to return to work full time, I honestly started to fear that I'd loose my independent brainpower and become a mommy robot -- spewing nonsense about sleep schedules, feeding routines, and poop characteristics.  
At least THAT didn't happen (hope you can sense the sarcasm). 
I used to be really organized, completely on top of everything, never forgetting a birthday or mixing up important dates. 
Now I can't seem to keep track of whether or not I've showered.  
There have been several times when I've accidentally washed the laundry twice, only to let damp clothes sit in the machine for hours on end, just waiting to be tossed in the dryer. 
I'm still driving myself insane wondering where Mackenzie has hidden the laundry room door stop even though I'm pretty sure I hid it from her and just can't recall what I did with it. 
And the other night I couldn't seem to remember whether or not I'd taken my birth control pill, so I checked the pack three times to make sure the little blue "Tuesday" was gone (I have a 10 month old baby who's giving me a run for my money - do you blame me for being paranoid about this?) 
So I don't know about the rest of you, but I need a mommy lobotomy stat.  
Never heard of one? Well, I actually think I'm on to something here. 
Doctors can offer them along with a boob lift and a vaginoplasty (look it up if you dare). Talk about a deal.