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Technically, "Pregnancy Head" or "Pregnancy Brain is described as follows:
"What it is: Pregnancy-induced brain fog, a true (and truly frustrating) hallmark of pregnancy. You may forget appointments, what you just walked into the store for, where you left your purse, whether you turned off the stove — and maybe, your phone number.
What causes it: As usual in pregnancy, it's just your hormones having some fun, this time at the expense of your memory. And believe it or not, your brain-cell volume actually decreases during the third trimester of pregnancy (which could explain why you can't remember what you just read about in that last paragraph). Not to worry, your brain will plump back up a few months after delivery."
That sounds all fine and dandy. No. Wait. It sounds horrible. In fact, it spells one word for me, son: DISASTER.
In a bit of a "Flowers for Algernon" moment (don't worry, you'll have to read that story in Junior High), I've slowly been watching your Mother lose her grip on her brain.
I've seen little clues laying around the house that her memory is slipping into a place of baby-thoughts and absentmindedness. They take the form of hair ties.
These black, elastic ringlets of doom have been left and littered in every room in the house. I find them everywhere: in the kitchen, in the bathroom, in the bed. I haven't found one in the fridge yet. Though several were lost on the plane. I know your Mom says it's just because her hair is slippery, and I assume that has something to do with it. But, it's so unlike her to lose anything! To misplace a mitten, to lose a letter to forget a forget-me-not.
The pregnancy head reached a head this weekend. Mimi and Pops gave your Mom a bracelet (that once belonged to Pops' mom). As we were half way back to New Hampshire, I looked at your Mom's wrist and asked her if she remembered the bracelet.
Now, not to worry. Within moments, I had called the hotel, the found the bracelet and had put it in a FedEx envelope with our address on it. But the point is this: if Pregnancy Head continues, we are all screwed.
You see, the problem is, I am supposed to be the forgetful one. I lose my wallet once a year, I often misplace my phone and keys while I'm texting and driving (not at the same time, mind you). I can't find my pants, or my socks, or my shoes, or my rocks (read, "marbles"). My head is not screwed on. I can't be trusted. Yet in this new formula, with Pregnancy Head attacking your Mom's brain cells, I have to be the mindful one!
This is not. looking. good. Example: I too lost something this weekend at the Hotel in Maine. But I didn't realize it until we got home. So, goodbye cell phone charger (at least we had a spare). See, I'm as absentminded as they come.
I don't want to be a fear monger here, but, thank goodness we can't lose you! You're safe and secure in your Mom's belly. Which she takes with her where ever she goes!
But, Pregnancy Head greatly reducing the number of gigabytes in the Weinstein hard drive, I may find myself lost one day soon! At least I wasn't left behind in the hotel in Maine!
A good sign of Pregnancy Head: Giggling while playing with Crayons. On the other hand, though, there is some hope: it seems that she was organizing the Crayons by color. This could mean that we aren't doomed! Update: After reading this post, your Mom still managed to leave her cellular phone at the art studio. We're all doomed again!
