No one told me that when the doctors cut Simon out of me that they'd also be removing (or at least mangling) parts of my brain. I figured the damage was done at that point, but it seems that there was still work to be done with the next child, because I'm sure they helped themselves to another chunk of my cerebrum (and possibly cerebellum- doesn't that sound like a pretty flower? Cerebellum Odorificus) when Ike was born. I have lost my mind, folks, and I blame the doctors. It was a c-section lobotomy.
What other explanation is there? OK, yes, there's the lack of sleep. Sometimes an extreme lack of sleep. But this goes far, far beyond that, my friend- I've been sleep deprived before, and while it may have actually made me cry sometimes, I still remained reasonably sane.*
Now? Now I actually scare myself sometimes. Last week I got Simon's sippy cup (“Appajoos PWEEEEEASE, MOMMEEEE!”), opened the lid, got the apple juice out of the fridge- and poured it into my tea. There was also a time, not so very long ago, when we couldn't find the juice anywhere. AJ found it, bless him- it was in the cupboard next to the popcorn. Simon had just learned to open the fridge that week, and I think I convinced AJ that it was Simon who had put the juice in the cupboard. Oh, that silly little rascal! What a kid... heh, heh... ahem.
You know when you walk into a room and forget for a second why you're there? That happens to me 15 times a day, and it's not just for a second. Time ticks by as I stand there, staring off into space, wondering exactly what it was I needed from the bathroom. Possibly drooling, I don't know. Far too often I'll have to go back to the room I just left to try to jog my memory- if I can remember what room I just came from.
So OK, my memory sucks, but that's not all. Things that used to be little problems have escalated into major malfunctions, and it's embarrassing. I've never been graceful, but now I'm running into furniture, walls, pets and people on an alarmingly regular basis. The cats are pissed, I'll tell you that. I have little to no concept of where my limbs are on space at any given time. I'm pretty sure my arms aren't usually floating and waving about over my head (or are they? You'd tell me, right?) but it's also not like I'm thinking, 'you know, my ass and that table could totally occupy the same space! At the same TIME!' I just couldn't keep track of my ass is all.
I used to forget words occasionally and sometimes got stuck in the middle of a sentence; now I'll get half-way through expressing a thought and just trail off... those thought thingers are tough to hang on to these days. Slippery buggers, they be.
I could go on, but I'm actually afraid to. Also, I can't remember what I was going to say. Dangit.
So that's my theory, anyway- those nasty doctors snuck in a lobotomy (or two) when they were supposed to be birfin' mah bebbies. It's the most reasonable explanation, I think. Am contemplating lawsuit. Goodnight, folks.
*However, the baseline measurement for this wasn't exactly what you'd call normal. “Sane” is a relative term.
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