I started this post well over a week ago. Then I forgot to finish. So yeah, that shit is real.
I semi-abandoned this thing. I did that for a few reasons. One, of course, is just being busy. Another reason is because I have hard time writing for myself when I know some people read this, but also have a hard time writing for an audience when I know only a few people read this. But the biggest reason is because of how my anxiety works. I forgot to post anything for a week. Then I feel stupid for not posting anything. Then I start to avoid thinking about the silly blog, then it becomes something that I have this anxiety attack over so I avoid it further. This is the pattern that kept me from consolidating my student loans or finding out why I am having issues with insurance covering parts of Nora's birth (parts relating to her. Apparently I'm covered, but I have to fight to convince them that she should be covered, too. Apparently paying premiums and having a copy of her very own insurance card isn't enough. But I digress).
So there is a lot of things I could write about. Always is, it seems, although I never get around to it. But today I want to address a very real, very dangerous issue: Mommy Brain. That shit is for real.
For example, this morning I forgot my work computer on my way to work (It was hiding in plain sight right next to the doorway). While this has happened before (not just with my laptop - I occasionally forget my pump too), I usually remember before I get all the way to work. Not so this morning! This sort of thing happens so often lately that I actually have a whiteboard checklist that I supposedly look at before I leave to make sure I don't forget anything.
Last week I also forgot to bring my diaper bag on an outing to the mall (with Nora, obviously, otherwise I wouldn't have cared). And I thought that I lost my cell phone at my work's staff awards, which led to a bunch of my coworkers peeking under tables and around dirty dishes when I found it in a weird inside pocket in my jacket that I NEVER use (the pocket, not the jacket). My director apparently whispered to the person next to her, "Yep, she's a new mom."
But the coup de grace happened Saturday night.
Or it could be, as the young man from my work's help desk I spoke with today when trying to recover the code from a security token I left at home suggested, it could just be related to my upcoming birthday. But that's a whole other issue.
Saturday night(Two Saturdays ago), Rob and I got a babysitter and went to a "cocktail attire" wine-tasting birthday party. Or at least we intended. Once we got to the location the invite specified (barely on time), we realized was wrong. We didn't know the code to get into the building, and couldn't get a hold of the host/hostess of the party. Rob buzzed the security office and said that we were there for a birthday party. The doorman buzzed us through. We took the elevator to the rooftop garden, where the party was to be held. Before the elevator doors even opened, we heard loud techno music blaring. Once the doors opened, we realized the music seemed to be Spanish. The security guy met us at the door and told us everyone was around the corner, so we walked the back of the garden. Rob and I noticed immediately that we didn't recognize anyone, which in and of itself was not strange, but you know what was? The Hello Kitty table toppers. They didn't exactly scream "birthday party for a 27 year old male."
Once we made it to the back of the rooftop, we realized something was wrong and booked it back downstairs. Maybe we had the wrong building?
Nope, just the wrong day. WTF.
I kid you not, it did not end there. Friday night (the party's actual date), we got ready to do it again. As we were driving downtown, I pulled out my phone to search for the email where the hostess sent us the code to get into the building. It was 2525... or as Brenna put it, "the date of the party, twice."
Wait, wasn't Friday's date 2/24?
Yeah, it was. I did it twice. I screwed up the date of this party twice. No shit. I cannot tell you the amount of tears I cried. I feel like I am going crazy.
It's a lot harder being a working mom than I thought. I can't do it all, and I knew that. Now I feel like I can't even do half of all there is for me to do. I don't hate my job, but I don't love it either. And about 99.9% of the time, I wish I was home with Nora (I'm not one of those moms who looked forward to going back to work. I don't get bored). Couple that with the fact that my department is understaffed and over worked, and I am extremely stressed all day long.
Then, add in a 6 month old. And two dogs (one who is dying of cancer, mind you), a stressed out husband who works for a start-up company, a house that is about 3 rooms too small for us, a long to-do list, bills, messes, and the secret desire to actually spend time on our hobbies, and finally, crushing anxiety and guilt, and I guess I can see how I make these kinds of mistakes. Oh, and hormones. Don't forget the hormones.
I'm not trying to complain, but damn. Damn. I need to figure something out, and soon. I can't keep losing precious hours of my life to stupid mistakes like forgotten laptops and the like.