Imagine the setting:

A McDonald’s in the inner city area. This equals a tiny parking lot that is always packed with cars and people. The drive thru line is long and I’m querying the boys for their orders before we reach the speaker. It’s fairly quiet in the car until I hear Count Dooku’s worried voice say, “Mom,when we get home can we change my pants cause I fink I peed a little in dem.”

My head wheels around and I reach into the back seat to feel his pants. If they are indeed wet it must be a very tiny spot. I breathe a small sigh of relief and then ask him the question with the obvious answer, “Do you have to pee?”

“Yes” he says in a small voice.

The car in front of us pulls ahead.

“Why didn’t you tell me this before we left the museum?”

“Cause I didn’t feel like der was pee yet, but all da sudden I feel da pee.”

I snicker a little and drive forward again and then he continues in an urgent voice as he grabs his pants, “I have to pee mom. I fink I’m going to pee in da car.”

“Oh no you won’t!” I say as I drive forward up to the speaker.

“Can I take your order?” says the voice over the speaker.

“Yeah, just a second,” I say loudly and then to Count Dooku in the back, “Unbuckle and climb into the front seat right now.”

He does so, still holding himself. The anxious look in his eyes has increased 10 fold and I’m flying through options in my brain as I blurt out our order.

“I’d like two four piece nuggets, two small fries and a hamburger,” and then to Count Dooku, “Ok, take your pants down a little buddy.”

Now what? Do I have him run across the way to the dumpster and pee behind there? No, that won’t work, I’d have to drive forward and he’d freak out thinking I was leaving him.

Do I open the door slightly and have him pee out onto the pavement? No, the folks in their cars behind us would see.

I pull forward again right as Count Dooku has finished pulling his pants down enough to pee. I realize that we’re driving up to the window and the cashier is going to see his naked nethers so I push him onto his naked bum and pull his coat down.

“Don’t move!” I warn him

“Your total is $6.64,” says the cashier. I hand her my credit card, she swipes it and hands it back. I pull up a little.

“I’m gonna peeeeeeeee!”

Crap! What to do? What to do? I’m ready to throw the door open and let him pee out of it when I see the 3/4 full water bottle on the floor. It’s got a rather narrow opening but it will work. I roll the window down and dump the water out.

We’re between the first and second window with one car in front of us when I tell Count Dooku to start peeing. I’m holding the steering wheel with my left hand, and the water bottle with my right. The car in front of us drives away. It’s my turn to pull up but Count Dooku is still peeing.

“Come on, come on!” I say. The lady at the second window is holding our bag out of the window beckoning me to pull forward. I’m looking right at her shrugging my shoulder and trying to clearly mouth, “One second.”
She shakes her head and closes the window. Count Dooku is still peeing. Finally he finishes up, hurriedly pulls his pants up and I drive forward after rolling the tightly sealed water bottle under the seat. The lady opens the window and thrusts the bag into my hands. Count Dooku is climbing into the back seat and buckling his belt.

“I really fot I was gonna pee in da car mom,” he says, the anxiousness in his voice gone.

“I’m so glad you didn’t son,” I say, “next time, remind me to make you pee before we go on a car ride, whether you think you need to or not.”

Sometimes, I’m surprised by how much I have changed in just the past few years. I got thinking about this tonight at a recipe exchange.

There, surrounded by good food, good people and good conversation I found myself feeling perfectly comfortable. Why, at book group just last week I was unafraid to voice my opinions or even, heaven forbid, try to be funny. Which I sort of was. This seemed slightly unnatural to me, for I remembered past gatherings of this variety where speaking out and feeling comfortable were not the case.

Just three years ago I would attend similar gatherings where I found myself feeling self-conscious, and quiet. My husband was concerned as I came home from each event feeling depressed. I felt bitter at the conversation going on all around me as I sat quietly listening in the corner chair. I listened to certain women speak up and speak often with ease, bitter that they would draw all the attention to themselves and not give others a chance to say anything.

I felt bitter that there were so many obvious close friendships that I was not a part of. Bitter that I heard of play dates and events to which I was not invited. I felt certain that I was ugly and annoying and that I was only invited to these events because they wouldn’t be able to hide their having occurred from me. Yet I kept going to them and came back feeling more depressed every time.

So I found myself wondering, what is different now? Is it that those women have moved away? After all, they hated me right? They were the reason I was so sad right?

No.

What was different then, was that I hated me. So I assumed everyone else did too. How can I possibly expect anyone to think better of me than I think of myself?

No one was stifling me. They would have allowed me to speak out had I chosen it.

No one was trying not to include me. But you can’t force friendship.

I went through a lot of hurt before my perception of me and my assumptions about what others must be thinking of me, changed. I’ve realized that being comfortable around others, starts with being comfortable with myself.

I wish I would have learned that sooner. I think I missed out on some really great friendships because I was busy assuming no one wanted to be my friend.

Right before bed, when you’ve told your four and six year old sons to go pee. Be sure to specify that they do so in different bathrooms.

Otherwise you might just pass the open bathroom doorway, see two naked boy bottoms facing you and hear laughter from them over the fact that their streams are crossing.

Boys.

Yesterday I went and saw the dentist again. He told me we would be taking care of a small restoration. I asked him how small it was, how deep he would need to drill and how long it would take for him to complete the process. To what did these questions turn, you ask? Why to my hair brained idea that maybe I wanted to go without local anesthetic of course.

You see, me and anesthetic don’t mix. They shoot me with the stuff and my heart races and I feel so icky and panicky the whole time. And then my lip is fat for hours afterward and my face itches but I can’t feel myself scratching, etc. I honestly hate the feeling of local anesthesia more than being in labor.

So I told him to start drilling and we would see how it went. Yes, I am completely nuts I think. But he drilled as far as he needed to, going slowly and the pain was minimal. It just made me jump at times it was so sudden and cold. But it really wasn’t bad. When he had finished prepping me for the filling I was very proud of myself. I figured I had weathered the worst, oh naive dental patient that I am.

But then he told me he was going to have to put this metal thing between my teeth up next to my gums. He slid it up there and it pinched my gums and right away it hurt worse than the drilling had. But though the pain was intense it was fleeting once the thing was secured. Then he told me he was going to have to drive a tiny wedge between my teeth. He showed me this little blue thing that looked like it had been carved out of a toothpick. No problem right. Wrong!

He started to push it in, and Holy %$#*&*&#$ %$&*@&%*$!
I’ve never passed out, I don’t know what it feels like, but I thought I might do it. He saw me arching my back and drove it in real quick. I felt all warm and woozy with pain for a moment but then it started dulling and I thought I could keep going. Then he had to stretch a rubber dam over everything and that tugged on the metal thing pinching my gums again and it really really really really hurt. But I had come this far without local anesthetic and I was NOT GIVING IN. Finally it was time to fill the tooth and that didn’t bug me at all. Then he removed all the crap killing my gums and the pain was pretty much gone right away. And I was smiling. Because I didn’t have a numb face.

Will I do it again? I can’t decide. I am leaning towards not, however. I must choose the lesser of two evils and now I’m thinking it’s the anesthesia. Maybe it doesn't always work on my teeth but it’s definitely always worked on my gums, which is where the real pain is people. Trust me.

The Joint National Committee on Prevention, Detection, Evaluation, and Treatment of Mommy Brain announced its latest guidelines just yesterday, stating that “Not all Mommy Brain, is the same.”
This is only the first of hopefully many steps that will be taken to help treat Mommy Brain, which was officially diagnosed last Monday. But mothers have felt the symptoms and their families have experienced the effects of Mommy Brain for centuries.

“I knew something was different right after we came home from the hospital,” said Iam Spacey of the moment in which she put a soiled diaper in the laundry basket and the babies onesie in the trash.

“I knew something was wrong when I opened my lunch at work one day and found fruit roll ups and Lunchables inside,” said one tearful husband. “I mean, if you think I was devastated, consider our poor son who opened up his lunch at school to find a Turkey wrap and tomato juice. Our son doesn’t eat that kind of stuff. The poor kid came home starving!”

Others have reported similar experiences ranging from simple things like finding the milk in the cupboard and the cereal in the fridge to more serious events like the one that happened to Anita Nadvil of Orem Utah.

“All I wanted to do was be a good mom!” wailed Anita as she recounted the scary experience. “I was just trying to sanitize the binkies! I never would have forgotten about them if I didn’t have Mommy Brain!”
But Anita Nadvil did forget about the boiling binkies. When she emerged from the babies bedroom after a diaper change, the house was filled with haze and smelled of melting plastic. Luckily, quick thinking prevented disaster. She turned off the burner, then escorted her two children out of the house until the toxic fumes cleared out.

Yes Mommy Brain seems to be running rampant these days. For those who have already had children, there is no prevention. Some form of Mommy brain exists in all Mommy’s. Some women have decided not to have children in hopes of avoiding the condition, though this won’t guarantee against similar conditions arising. Even the most healthy of non-child bearing women come down with cases of absent mindedness or worse.

For victims of Mommy Brain there is no cure, but a good support network and a strong resolve can make a world of difference.

“I write notes to myself all the time,” says Anita Postit of Portland Oregon. “Like if I have to pay rent by a certain date, I stick a note saying so on my desk. Otherwise I forget.”

For some women, even that is not enough. One mother, wishing to stay anonymous because of the severity of her condition reports that she has to tape her rent or video rentals to the door in order to remember them before she goes out.

In spite of the differences in progression of Mommy Brain in all of the women mentioned in this article, they share one common thread – A good support system. Husbands who tease them and help them laugh at their Mommy Brain moments. Mother’s who sympathize and offer suggestions. Children who love them no matter what Mommy Brain moment they have next.

Of course not all victims of Mommy Brain have a good support system in their home and community, but more and more of them are finding support in an online community of mommy bloggers. These mommy bloggers are mother’s who are willing to share their Mommy Brain moments in order to help others going through the same thing to feel they are not alone. It has become a lifeline to some with severe cases.
“Reading stories from other Mommy Brain victims on the blogs is so great!” says Imjus Truthful. “It’s therapeutic to be able to laugh at the stories of mom’s who have it worse than you do.”

If you would like to donate to research for treatments and a cure for Mommy Brain call:
1-800-BRAINLS
Together, we can make great strides in helping victims of Mommy Brain around the world.

Yesterday, my baby Angel learned how to give kisses.

As I held her in front of me, I puckered my lips, made an “Mmmmmm” sound and gave her a little kiss on her open mouth. After doing this a couple of times I repeated the process except that I waited to see if she would give me the kiss. And she did!

As she saw my puckered lips and heard my “Mmmm” sound she pressed her open little mouth onto mine. And then she did it again and again, each time I tried it. And when daddy tried it, she gave him little open mouth kisses too.

This morning, the first thing I did was see if she remembered what she had learned yesterday. She did, and I was greeted with two little teeth pressed against my puckered lips.
I think baby kisses are the sweetest kind.

Sometimes, you just have one of those days.

You wake up aching from head to foot, sniffling and coughing. The throbbing in your head compounded by shouting little voices.

The husband is sick too and is leaving for work late and before noon has even arrived you’ve snapped at your him and your kids a few times. Then you have a miscommunication about who is supervising the kids during finger painting and both of you are astonished to emerge from where you had been, to see bright red foot prints on the carpet leading to the bathroom door.

Then there is more snapping about the poor communication and frustration as the husband has to leave for work and can’t help your aching self clean up the mess. The mess that is smeared over the entire table, two chairs and a good size section of carpet. The bright red mess that is now a rather visible pink reminder on the floor. Before scrubbing you put the children, who are also mostly red, into the shower.

You get things cleaned up just in time to hear moans of “I’m hungry!” and now it’s time to fix lunch. And when you open the fridge something catches the door. Knowing you probably shouldn’t, but impatient and already incredulous about things, you yank on the door to get the fridge open and the worcestershire sauce falls out, lid flies off and part of your kitchen floor is covered in brown liquid.

You shake your head and chuckle maniacally to yourself while sopping up the mess. “Of course!” you say, trying to laugh to keep the tears away.

Add to this that the baby won’t nap and has been screaming in her crib for the last half hour of cleaning and showering and cleaning again, and even laughing can’t keep the tears away.
After things have calmed down a bit, you get on the blog to write about it. Not for pity, but just to have other moms tell you that you’re not the only mother who has days where everything seems to combine against every ounce of patience you have. Right?

1. Yesterday as I nursed Vanessa in the computer chair while reading blogs, I leaned back too far and tipped us over. As we fell in seeming slow motion I tightened my left arm firmly around her and braced us for the fall with my right. But the force of impact catapulted her right out of my left arm. She was about to face plant onto the carpet when my right arm (thank goodness for reflexes) caught her across the belly, her nose an inch from the floor. Though not hurt she cried for a minute because of fright. Then it was back to sucking happily on the mama, while the mama chuckled and shook her head at the instant replay she kept seeing in her head.

2. On the day we actually went out and did something really cool (Science center), Caleb peed all over himself. And me being the good mama that I was, I rubbed the wet spots with damp paper towels, put the pants back on my son and told him to go play some more because we weren’t leaving after we’d just arrived.

3. Ethan informed me at dinner the other night that, “you make da worst dinners of da house.”
I’m really not a bad cook people. He was trying to say that Daddy’s dinners are better. Hubby has been cooking for months now and he’s better at it than I am. He’s a cook. I’m a good recipe follower. And Ethan is going to be eating soap if he doesn’t learn some tact.