The brain regression of Motherhood.

Cruising through my early (cough) thirties, I maintain that I’m still in my prime.  I’m not getting old just yet.  I’ll admit, after growing, birthing and feeding three babies, my body is past its’ best but we’ll overlook that detail and instead celebrate it in all it’s stretched marked glory.  And fine lines add character to a face, right?

It’s the physical tiredness that does it for me.  The result of waking up every couple of hours (at best) night after night.  It makes me feel so far beyond my Best Before Date that I could well be growing mould.  I’ve genuinely forgotten what it’s like to fall asleep at night and wake up at a reasonable hour the next morning.  Really, what’s that like?  Answers on a postcard please.

Officially, in medical terms, pregnant women who are 35 or older are termed ‘geriatric mothers-to-be’.  That’s hilarious.  I was two years off being geriatric.  It’s also ridiculous because aint no-one seen a senile woman until they’ve observed a postnatal, post-nine-months-of-disturbed-sleep mama trying to wash her clothes in the freezer.  Sometimes I think I’ve completely lost my marbles and that’s on a good day.

Here’s how motherhood has screwed with my previously logical and methodical brain:

#1: Losing stuff…

If it’s not strapped to me, I will misplace it.  Human beings excluded.  I’m good with those.  Anything else though is fair game… And could be found anywhere.  Like anywhere.  Keys.  Purse.  The lipstick that I know I put in the changing bag.  Teething gel.  Sometimes, maybe, possibly, my car in a carpark.

#2: Online Shopping…

Completing a simple online grocery shop has now become a strategic puzzle that is more complicated than The Crystal Maze.  I am an educated woman.  I have a degree.  I have worked in high responsibility, high pressured roles throughout my career so far.  I have lived independently for fifteen years.  And yet I am suddenly faced with the incapacity to click on an appropriate quantity of chosen food items, select a pre-decided delivery slot and make my way through an online checkout.  Of late, I have sent groceries to my old house, apparently (and I do mean apparently because I still argue that there must have been a computer glitch) ordered 60 cans of sanpellegrino lemonade and forgot to complete one particular order so our weekly shop consisted of beer, fromage frais and Bovril.  No exaggeration.  Only last night I waited until 10pm for a delivery only to realise (when I was self-righteously checking my confirmation email) that I’d booked it for today.  And all that is when I can actually find my purse to make the payment in the first place.  I will not be putting these accolades on my CV.

#3: Going Out out…

I cannot muster the energy to be even bothered that I never go ‘out’ out anymore.  I’m a lover of all things Social Media; Instagram, Twitter, Youtube, Facebook.  As a stay at home mum that wipes bums, sweeps rejected food from the floor and spends hours trying to persuade a objecting nine month old boy to go to sleep, it’s my portal to the outside world.  I’m not even a little bit sorry about that.  So I scroll through this virtual reality of mine when I can, and I know  – I see that other humans that have also procreated do actually still go out out.  And I’ll be honest.  It’s a mystery to me.  Why any sleep deprived parent, covered in baby substances and having battled the will of a tiny human all day would ever chose to exert their last ounces of energy in getting dressed to an acceptable state and partaking in activities that require alertness and enthusiasm, with other human beings, is beyond me.  Sometimes having a bath at the end of the day requires too much motivation for me these days.  Once all the kids are in bed and I’ve enchillada’d myself in a big fluffy throw on the sofa, I occasionally allow my mind to wander back to when I was 19 and leaving the house at 9pm to go partying.  And I laugh at such youthful ignorance.  Why on earth would you blister your heels in a sweaty night club when you can watch Neighbours on demand in your flannel PJS?

I know, I know.  I’m a 87 year old trapped in a younger body.

You never know, this might all change.  Once I get better sleep, and I know I will (right?!), my cognitive thinking might resemble that of a fully functioning adult again.  When I have more energy I may well feel like socialising in the big wide world during grown up hours again. I may even leave the house at 9pm once again. To you young guns, watch out for those older ladies still believing they can pull off a sequinned bodycon dress, it might just be me cutting some shapes on the dance floor.

Until then, may all your evenings be relaxed and your sleep be restful,

Mrs C x

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