{"id":758,"date":"2007-01-19T19:57:09","date_gmt":"2007-01-20T03:57:09","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/torturedpotato.com\/cheeseblog\/?p=758"},"modified":"2007-01-19T21:01:16","modified_gmt":"2007-01-20T05:01:16","slug":"where-is-my-mind","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/torturedpotato.com\/cheeseblog\/?p=758","title":{"rendered":"Where is My Mind"},"content":{"rendered":"

Back in August, fuelled by caffeine or testosterone or sweat or the sweet, sweet smell of fresh babytoes, I went on at some length <\/a> about body image post-partum. Something about terrorists and body changes and life changes and pants? I’m not going to re-read the whole thing – like I say, I was on some kind of drug (endorphins?) and frankly I can’t imagine why I didn’t give a passing whoop-dee-do to the part of me I really want “back” now that I’m no longer pregnant.<\/p>\n

My mind.<\/p>\n

1. I think it’s 2006. I really do.
\n2. I leave the house at roughly the same time every day, to go one way or the other, often by bus. Every time I take a bus, I look up the bus schedule. They run every half hour. Every day, the same schedule. Every day I get on the 11:40 bus. Every day I look it up.
\n3. I wrote #2 earlier, after I looked up the bus schedule.
\n4. I walk around thinking I should email X, I should call Z, I should really do laundry.<\/i> 24 hours will pass and I think I’ve done all those things until I get to the laundry, which is still dirty and then I realize I’ve done none of it.
\n5. This morning I trudged into the kitchen, slopped some milk into a coffee cup and then poured water into it instead of coffee. Mmm.
\n6. That’s the 2nd time this week I have done this.
\n7. I can’t remember the words to The Philosopher’s Drinking Song! This scares me because I have ALWAYS known the words (I was a very cute 2 year old, yes) and I’m afraid the post-pregnancy is going to eat even my old memory stores! (Not that I need the prices of Stilton in my head [$3.49\/100g, 11 years ago] but there is a kind of security in knowing that I still remember the dumb things I haven’t needed to remember for years but still have always remembered.)
\n8. Sentences. Are. Hard.
\n9. I couldn’t remember Trombone’s name today. Just stared at him for a few seconds while it came to me. It’s not like I’ve go 6 other kids (Maria, Consuela, Orlando, Sebastian, Francesca, Gordito! WhoEVER you are!) to cycle through. Just the one. <\/p>\n

My mind has lost its elasticity. I was setting about archiving this blog and looked at some of the stuff I wrote 3 years ago and it was witty. It made me say, “Heh! Witty!” like a chimp learning to speak. And then I cried because yeah, checkitout, my elastic brain is all sloooooowwwww and squiiiiiiishy now. Where’s my sock? Beans!<\/p>\n

I did not give birth through my brain! There is no reason for it to be all stretched out!<\/p>\n

Boing! Boing! BOING!<\/p>\n

I know it will come back because I have seen other people have babies and they still have their brains. Isn’t there a loosening of ligaments in pregnancy? Where the elastin in the body gets augmented so your bits can stretch all to hell and back to birth the baby? Maybe I need elastin supplements. Is it in Jello? I would be willing to eat a lot of Jello. Especially the orange kind.<\/p>\n

In those first few months I was so busy and hopped up on hormones I didn’t have time to care that I had no brain. But now that the infant is starting to self-amuse, I sit staring at my hands, thinking, the baby will soon be smarter than me because its brain is growing and mine is shrinking!<\/i> And then I surf the ‘net and find all kinds of better written blogs than mine and then I watch more Tyra. Her hair is different EVERY DAY! <\/p>\n

I guess, the way some people do crunches or go to the gym to lose that post-partum belly flab, I’ll have to get Saint Aardvark to greet me every morning with, “What day is it? What YEAR is it? What’s the sum of 4 and 12? Who was the first prime minister of Canada? What is your son’s name?” and make sure he supervises as I pour my first cup of coffee.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Back in August, fuelled by caffeine or testosterone or sweat or the sweet, sweet smell of fresh babytoes, I went on at some length about body image post-partum. Something about terrorists and body changes and life changes and pants? I’m … Continue reading →<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[30],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-758","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-trombone"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/torturedpotato.com\/cheeseblog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/758","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/torturedpotato.com\/cheeseblog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/torturedpotato.com\/cheeseblog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/torturedpotato.com\/cheeseblog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/torturedpotato.com\/cheeseblog\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=758"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/torturedpotato.com\/cheeseblog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/758\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/torturedpotato.com\/cheeseblog\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=758"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/torturedpotato.com\/cheeseblog\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=758"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/torturedpotato.com\/cheeseblog\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=758"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}