Preggo brain

I don’t know what it is about being in gestation mode that causes one to lose significant brain power, but it is most definitely the case where I’m concerned.

I actually wrote in my firstborn’s pregnancy journal, nearly five and a half years ago, that ‘my brain feels foggy’. And it did. I mean how else do you explain losing a purse? While walking?

It was November 2003. Jason and I had met some friends for lunch after church. Afterwards, we went our separate ways. He went back to school to work on his thesis, and I went home, via the grocery store. I picked up a few requisite items – if (my faulty) memory serves I bought apples and ice cream to make apple crisp for Mr. Johnson. I paid for said items and left the store, which was less than two blocks from our apartment.

The next day I discovered my purse was missing. I turned the apartment upside down looking for it. I retraced my steps through the park. Went back to the aforementioned grocery store. It was nowhere to be found. I had to cancel my bank and credit cards. I even had to get in touch with the Indiana Driver’s License Bureau to let them know my license had been ‘stolen’. And of course the purse I’d lost wasn’t just any old purse.

It was a purse I’d admired on a trip to Paris. That Jason had somehow found in London – without my saying anything to him about it – and bought for my 29th birthday. A purse with a story. And I just lost it…while walking…or something.

With this pregnancy, I haven’t detected that tell-tale ‘foggy’ feeling. But that just confirms my suspicion that, in all likelihood, my brain never returned to its normal, semi-useful state again. Basically I’ve been living in a blurry fog for a good five years now. And apparently I’m getting dumber by the second.

I drove to a friend’s house for coffee several weeks ago. I’d only been there once before, about three months prior, and didn’t have an address with me. Because non-pregnant Nicola usually has a decent memory and is the sort of person who can find a house even if she’s only been there once before.

This particular house was in suburbia, in an addition where every single road has exactly the same name. Maybe that’s just a Calgary thing – I’ve noticed it a lot here – and it makes absolutely no sense.

So I drove around for thirty minutes and could not find her house. And then I realized I couldn’t even remembered what her house looked like anyway. Brick, vinyl siding, white, grey, orange. I hadn’t a clue. And, since we don’t have a cell phone, I had to drive back home like a dog with my tail between my legs. Jason greeted me at the door with a ‘what happened?’ To which I replied ‘I couldn’t find her house.’ A phone call later and I was on my way to the right destination.

Fast forward about two weeks and it happened again. I was due at another friend’s house, one I’d actually been to several times, though I still didn’t know the exact address. Once again I drove around for thirty minutes looking for any sign of familiarity…and drove home when it became clear I was not going to find it. Once again Jason greeted me at the front door, this time with an ‘are you okay?’ A glance at my countenance revealed I had not been in a major accident, so he continued: ‘you can’t keep doing this…I don’t like it when people call me asking where you are…I worry.’ I know. A phone call later and I was on my way. Again.

And then it got cold and snowed, despite my hoping we’d emerged from winter coat season. I looked for my gray jacket – couldn’t find it anywhere. I figured it had to be somewhere in the house, so I settled for wearing my black one in the interim, which was just as well since it’s the one that actually fits me at the moment.

A search upstairs and downstairs yielded nothing. The coat had to be somewhere else. I couldn’t even recall the last time I’d worn it, much less where I might have worn and subsequently left it.

And then we were at church on Sunday. We were helping the boys get their jackets on, when I glanced over to the left-hand corner of the coat area. I saw the tell-tale fake fur trim and the gray poly exterior of my missing jacket. Who knows how long it had been hanging there.


2 thoughts on “Preggo brain

  1. The preggo brain, yes, I remember it so well. When I worked at General Mills I would always park in the same spot in the parking ramp. One day I was finished with work and I could NOT find my car. I walked around and finally concluded that it had been stolen. I called Paul in a panic and was going to go to talk to the security guard. Thankfully, I looked on the next floor and there it was. I can only blame it on the preggo brain, the alternative is too scary!

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