Baby brain

So, baby brain.

Is it real? Could something as simple as progesterone cause a woman to become more forgetful? Are heightened tiredness and distraction during pregnancy a more likely cause?

I have no idea, actually.

All I know is that it affects me (and those around me – sorry for all the cold dinners Hubby!) in every pregnancy.

Mostly it’s fairly simple things. A pair of glasses found nestled in the fridge or the wardrobe is a great relief. Until I wonder what that means for the eggs or T-shirt I’d been carrying at the same time.

There was the day that I tried and failed four times to simply put a chicken into the oven for dinner. There are many, many instances of my putting the dinner into the oven, but not actually turning the oven on. There are evenings when we eat quite late in my house.

But the story I tell most people when they ask about baby brain is one from when I was pregnant with Little Man.

At the time, I drove the best car in the world. A 94 Toyota Corolla. I loved that car and still miss it terribly. The only problem it ever had was caused by me. While pregnant I simply could not remember to switch the lights off when I got out! And I’ll be honest, this bothered me. That little beep when I opened the damn door was another reminder that I was losing my mind. Remember, at this stage I couldn’t be sure it would go back to normal after Little Man was born.

So, every time I got into the car I’d drive along thinking “Turn off the lights, turn off the lights, keys out of ignition, turn off the lights”. This was WAY less effective than I hoped it would be. It had a failure rate of nigh on 100%. Not ideal, you’ll agree.

And then one day, I drove to the Spar in Citywest on my lunchbreak. I parked the car, opened the door and… silence. In your face stupid beep! I was a functional human being who was entirely capable of turning off lights after all!

My happiness was short-lived. In the time it took me to get out of the car and close the door, I’d lost my keys.

Checked pockets.

Nope.

Looked in handbag.

Nope.

Resigned self to rooting through overly-large handbag properly.

Wallet onto roof of car.
Two novels onto roof of car.

Emergency novel onto roof of car.

Still no keys!

And then, a good Samaritan came along. “Here missus! Are ya lookin’ for your keys?”

Thank heavens! He can see them, that means I must have dropped them on the ground. I thank him profusely while looking around my feet and under the car.

“Eh, no love, it’s just that… well your engine’s still running.”

It’s hard to tell who was the most embarrassed. The poor man really felt sorry for this incredibly round woman who was clearly an imbecile. I thanked him quickly and we went our separate ways, both I’m sure, thinking of the silly story we’d be telling later on.

And tell the story I did. Repeatedly. Hubby and I rolled it out on a regular basis, to much hilarity.

Until one day, when we told a favourite uncle, Ciarán, what had happened. Like everyone, he laughed and threw his eyes up to heaven and sympathised with my plight. And then he quietly, casually, asked one simple question “So had you actually turned off the lights? Cos if the keys were still in the ignition, it wouldn’t have beeped.”

I looked at Hubby, horror stricken. And I guess we’ll never know!

Pregnancy myths

So I've been catching up on Grey's Anatomy and I was quite amused by the way they've been showing Meredith Grey's pregnancy.
Christina noticed the pregnancy because of Meredith's 'massive boobs' as well as the fact that she's been crying at the drop of a hat. Totally Hollywood, right?

Real pregnancy is completely different. I mean ok, my maternity coat is fine on my tummy and won't close over my boobs, but that's probably a coincidence, right?

Anyway, a typical day in my life is nothing like Meredith Grey's sobfest.
Take this morning: It is perfectly reasonable to have a little cry because my laryngitis means that baby is not getting to know the sound of my voice right now.

And honestly, who *wouldn't* have cried after driving an hour to the hospital only to discover she'd left payment for her ultrasound at home?

Also, tears of joy when looking at 'textbook' images of the four chambers of your child's heart? What am I, a stone?

Still, I smiled so hard on my way back to my car that my face actually started to hurt. Definitely a good sign. I beamed and wiggled my head along to the radio on my drive home. The epitome of reasonableness.

And then, at the Red Cow, a white van in front of me crashed into the estate car in front of it. Well, that's clearly unfair. I mean, there I was ten feet away, full to the brim with joy and these two people had just had their day ruined! So I shed a little tear for them. Maybe two. Look, who actually *counts* tears anyway?

So yes, I think Hollywood has a long way to come in depicting the realities of pregnancy. Silly melodramatic scriptwriters! It's almost enough to make a girl cry...

Childhood friends

There is a childhood friend that I've neglected in the past few years. One I'd almost forgotten I ever used to love. The passage of time, the geographical distance between us has led us apart. And yet I know that my stalwart friend is still there, patiently waiting. Making friends with others, being an important part of their lives, and always being ready to embrace me once more when I return.

This friend is the King Oak in Charleville Forest. Somewhere between 400 and 800 years of age, it has been climbed on, sat on, wept on, and transported happy children to unending adventures.

When I was too young to go on school tours like my older siblings, my Dad and I would pack a lunch (ok, it was an iced bun in a blue tupperware box) and head off for an adventure to Charleville. Just the two of us. Our first port of call, always, was the King Oak. Gnarled and majestic to an adult, to a (short) four year old it looked as giant as anything could possibly be. Obliging old friend that it is, it has two branches spread out quite low over the ground - absolutely perfect for even smaller kids to climb aboard the horse, train, whale... whatever their imagination called on it to be that day.

Even in my teens, my sister and I would walk to visit friends on the far side of town, and then we would go for a picnic (ok, a bottle of Cola and whatever ice-cream was in fashion at the time) and just sit and chat by, or on, the tree for hours.

I will bring my kids to see my friend the King Oak. They will climb, and I will worry. They'll jump, and I'll catch them. They will hug the tree, and I will smile, and hope that one day they bring their own kids to visit our family friend. And hope that he'll still be there, waiting patiently.


The King Oak in Charleville is currently in competition to win the title European Tree of the Year. Being a tree, it probably doesn't care if it wins or not. But it's nice to think it allows us to remember our friend again, and to honour him in some way. You can vote here http://www.treeoftheyear.org/?lang=en

Breast Cancer BS

Banana my goddamned backside! People are AWARE of breast cancer. We don't need games, and pink umbrellas and branded bottled water to be AWARE that cancer is there, that it can be deadly.

We need money for research, for treatments, for cures. We need to save lives.

We do NOT need giant TVs in the breast-screening waiting room in St James' hospital, and for 'fun' games to 'go viral'.

Put your money* where your mouth is and make a difference.


*The Irish Cancer Society in no way endorses my rant.

Enquiring minds

I've posted before about the varied topics of conversation Little Man and I enjoy on our journey home from crèche. (Little Lady tends to take a backseat to these chats, and flourishes more in one-to-one situations)

While answering the endless questions can sometimes be a challenge, on days like today I find myself wishing that our journey was just a little longer, just to see how far our conversation could travel too!

First, we started with why baby kangaroos (wallabies really) hopped away from us at the animal park.
- It was in case we stepped on their babies by accident, I explained.
- What would happen if we stepped on little baby kangaroos?
- Well, they'd be hurt and would have to go to the vet.
- But kangaroos don't have telephones so who will call the vet for them?
- Probably us or the park ranger.
- Do kangaroos not know that we're not bad guys?
- No, it's very hard to tell who the bad guys are sometimes.
- Well, if I see a bad guy and I know he's not a good guy I will shoot him with my Black Widow gun and the Black Widows will poison him and he will die forever and not hurt baby kangaroos.
- That's a good idea.
- Why are the clouds hiding the moon?
- The clouds are being blown in front of the moon by the wind.
- But why can I not see the moon?
- Because the clouds are closer to us than the moon is.
- Why is the dark black?
- .....?

Happy Anniversary to me!

For the second time in a week, Hubby has forgotten our anniversary.

Today is the 9th anniversary of us moving in together for the first time. Last Thursday was the 5th anniversary of a positive pregnancy test when I was expecting Little Man.
I know. I can't believe he forgot them either.

But, being the amazing wife that I am, I have decided to forgive him.

Instead of tears and recriminations, I'll gently remind him tonight at home as we prepare our dinner. He won't say much, he's that stoic sort of man. But he'll give me a tender kiss on the cheek, and a gentle hug, and I'll hear the words he simply doesn't need to say out loud:
"Oh my darling wife, we'll get you the best help money can buy..."

Back to School - Little Lady

Little Man is not the only one with a big change of pace this week. My darling girl has started Junior Montessori! (I'd really better stop calling her my baby soon...)

We didn't tell her much about Montessori before she started, as she doesn't have the same sense of waiting and the passage of time as her older brother. They started settling her and her classmates into their new room last week, and then Monday morning was the main event.

When you're not-yet-three, you tend to take simple things like room changes within the creche in your stride. Certainly Little Lady does. So what real changes would she experience this week? Well I'm glad you asked.
1) the bringing of a lunchbox (for snacktime) to creche
2) the removal of her daily nap (it was about time anyway)
3) the introduction of more structured, learning play for a couple of hours each day
These three changes were accepted with varying degrees of success.

First, the lunchbox. Having been caught on the hop the Friday before Little Man started Junior Montessori last year, I was determined that it wouldn't happen again. I've had a blue pirate-emblazoned lunch bag sitting in the press for weeks! Before we got the kids up on Monday, I went downstairs and filled it, then presented it to the little madam for her inspection.

Mere words could not begin to express her delight at possessing this lunch bag. Positively squealing with pleasure, she immediately sat in the middle of the kitchen floor to open the bag and explore the treasures within. Little Man sat down beside her and praised and clapped along as she pulled one magical gift after another from the bag.
"Look!! A water. MY WATER! And raisins! It's raisins IN MY LUNCH! Mammy, Daddy look - it's a YOGURT!". 
Christmas morning itself couldn't have brought more joy - things seemed to be going swimmingly.

If you look back at items two and three on our list, you may notice that they don't seem to sit together very well. More work, less rest time. Any chance that could cause a problem? Nah. We'd been reducing her naps anyway, and she doesn't nap at weekends, so I wasn't all that worried about this. On a related note, I am a blithering idiot.

On Monday evening, Little Lady was very, very tired coming home from creche. On Tuesday morning she was just narky. As well as being tired she was ravenous. Seriously ravenous. When I opened my own lunch bag to give her a snack in the car, she ate three cashews without even tasting them. How do I know she didn't taste them? Because she tasted the fourth. And panicked. There may still be cashew nut fragments in the back of my hair, I don't really want to know.

And then Tuesday evening... I knew things were bad as soon as I got her into the car. I only barely got her into the house, hoisting her under one arm like a bag of potatoes. She was so far gone that she didn't even want cuddles or songs (not even Moon River!). I approached her in much the same way that I would an injured lion; speaking soft, soothing words and offering gifts of food. At least lion tamers are armed with a chair.

With all my limbs intact (just) I negotiated a ceasefire based on mutual love and understanding, and a fully-peeled stemless apple. Two bites in she smiled at me. Another two and she sat in my lap. Just one more and she was cuddled up humming sleepy noises. After some healing cuddle time and lots more food she told us excitedly about her day. Any day that involves a pirate lunch, "minding" the babies in the garden, and drawing pictures is ok by Little Lady. She and Junior Montessori are going to get along just fine.