Lactose lobotomy

I have had a lactose lobotomy.

It is a condition whereby milk flow from breastfeeding cuts off all blood flow to the area of the brain that deals with memory. That’s my definition but I’m sure it could be scientifically proven as well. Now, a lactose lobotomy is not to be mistaken with pregnancy porridge brain. Although the symptoms are similar, I assure you a lactose lobotomy is pregnancy porridge brain on steroids. To give you an idea of how severe my case is, here is an average day in my life:

3:00 am: Woken by a wailing sound which I assume is the house alarm going off. Turn over and pull pillow over my head.

3:10am: Husband gently prods me, and tries to hand me a wrapped up bundle.
Husband: “Um, I think it’s time to feed the baby.”
Me: The baby? Oh! Good grief! The baby!

11:00am: Eight hours and three breast feeds later, cabin fever sets in and I decide I absolutely have to go to Dischem. Now you must understand that Dischem is to mothers with babies what a new nightclub is to cool, single people. Moms with babies are drawn to the green and yellow flourescent light above a Dischem entrance the way cool, single people swarm around movie premiers or club openings. Once I have managed to get the wailing baby strapped into the Piccolo and the Piccolo strapped into the car (a task akin to getting an octopus into a jar), I realise I’ve locked my house keys and the gate remote in the house. I am trapped in the driveway with a wailing baby. And then it starts to rain.

12:00pm Husband comes home from work to rescue baby and I, baby wants to feed so the bright lights of Dischem will have to wait another hour or so.

1:30pm: Finally I’m strolling aimlessly down the soothing aisles of Dischem. Can’t remember what I so urgently needed to buy so I settle on some wet wipes; can’t have enough of those. After 20 minutes or so I head off home (get wailing baby out of papoose, get wailing baby into Piccolo, get Piccolo into car).

2:00pm: Arrive home (get wailing baby out of piccolo etc you get the gist by now). Remember that what I really needed to get from Dischem was nappies. Baby reminds me of this by doing a big poo.

5:00pm: Realise with horror that I have lost my credit card. Try to retrace my steps that day (you’d think it would be an easy task given that if I manage to make it the two metres from the front door to our postbox to check the mail it’s a big day for me), but can’t for the life of me remember where I’ve been.

3:00am: Dischem! It hits me like a ton of nappies. That must be where the credit card is! Attempt to mentally store this gem of information for the morning.

8:00am: Wake up still puzzling about where the heck I could have left my credit card…

Do you think it’s true that new mothers are not mentally sharp?
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