She is just SO PROUD OF HIM
Carmi - the duchess of a dog

Pregnant brain

When I was a freshman in college, I took a women's studies class. At the time, I remember being a little taken aback by how much the study of women centered on the ways men were wrong - almost as though we are more defined by other people rather than ourselves - but being a bubble headed 18 year old I obediently sucked up the professor's rants and regurgitated them in the appropriate papers and essay questions. I did very well in that class.

One of the rants I remember was about pregnancy and breast feeding. It made the professor INSANE when people suggested that the state of gestating or lactating somehow affected women's intelligence. 
"As THOUGH," she raged, "our brains are located in our UTERUS or BREASTS!" It was just one more of society's LIES, designed to form a CAGE around WOMEN.

Ah, would that I could revisit that classroom, that lecture, that point. If only I could inhabit my youthful taut body, crease that unlined brow, and raise my manicured hand. "Professor?" I could say in a clear, invigorated voice, "Professor - BITE ME."

Because YES, I am a valuable human being, separate from my reproductive ability. I have a unique viewpoint and insight to share with the world. But also? I am currently dumb as a rock.

The other day I went grocery shopping. I parked my van and walked to the front of the store to pick out a shopping cart. It was then that I realized I'd left my reusable fabric shopping bags in the back of the van, so I turned right around and headed back to retrieve them. I walked up to the van, pressing my little "unlock" button. Repeatedly. But the lights were not flashing, and I heard no unlock CLUNK, which was weird. That's when I noticed the dent in the bumper.

I gaped. I turned around in a circle, looking for who...what...HOW? I said something aloud that I would TRY not to say in front of the kids. WHAT HAPPENED TO MY VAN?

Understand, the bumper isn't made of metal or anything, so it wasn't an actual dent - more like a crease where the plastic had been folded in deeply, then popped back. A large swath of paint had flaked off, revealing black plastic. I couldn't have backed into something - THAT HARD - without being aware of it, could I? Did someone run into me? WHAT HAPPENED TO MY VAN?

As I stood there, hyperventilating slightly, my gaze drifted to the license plate. IT WAS WRONG TOO.


This wasn't my van. 

I stepped back and glanced around, trying to act like I hadn't just been having a kitten over someone else's bumper damage. I looked around casually, and there was my van. In a whole 'nother row. Facing the other direction.I strolled over to it, collected my bags, and went off to do my shopping. And forgot to lock the van.

Now, in my defense, I drive a gold Odyssey, and statistically speaking, odds are pretty good you do too. There's a lot of them, is what I mean. (By "statistically" I mean "based upon my totally subjective observation that there seem to be a lot of them everywhere since I got mine and I notice them now" not "actually having anything to do with statistics.") On the other hand, it wasn't like I'd been in the store for an hour. I'd walked from the parking lot to the front of the store, turned around, and wandered away like a puppy who'd caught a whiff of some particularly appealing butt. 

And so it goes with me lately. I keep doing things like returning the peanut butter to the fridge and stashing the jelly in the cupboard. And although my former professor would claim that I am buying into the patriarchy's contemptuous view of women and their ability, I would ask this: when YOU are engaged in THE MOST COMPLEX sort of creative work you've ever done, how much brain power do YOU have left over for inanities like parking spots? I rest my case.

And now - proving that I still have a clear grasp of the important - time for a nap!



I had been quoting one of my boys, who said in a previous pregnancy, "Mom, you get forgetfuller the pregnanter you get." I happened to run across the journal entry in which I had originally written it down and discovered I'd been quoting the wrong kid, talking about the wrong pregnancy.

It was a little sobering to realize that I couldn't even remember my forgetfulness accurately.


Hear hear! I have NEVER found my car keys in the fridge when I am not pregnant.

Karate Mom

OK...well...OK...I understand this. But how can I explain doing things like this when I'm really NOT pregnant? Does that make it just plain...dumb? Or scary?

Belated congratulations on your pregnancy! How exciting! Oh, and this line made me snort it was so funny: "...wandered away like a puppy who'd caught a whiff of some particularly appealing butt." :)


I read somewhere that 1 in 3 pregnant women has a car accident. Both of my pregnancies, in the same week of the same month of gestation, I ran my car(s) into a pole in a parking garage. Not parking, mind you, just driving around the corner like I did every day on my commute to work. Never at any other time have I steered my car into any stationary object. But at 4 months 3 weeks I apparently lose all ability to judge distances while driving. Wierd!

Amma Always

I have laughed so hard at this post that tears are running down my cheeks. But the truth remains - It takes so much of our brains and emotions to make a new person.

How is the human bean doing?


Oops, I almost read that first sentence wrong. For a second I thought you said, "When I was pregnant in college I took a freshmen studies class" and I was all, "Hellllloooo, the root of your problem." I'm better now.


I don't remember ever having this type of problem while pregnant. That could be because I've always had the ability to lose my car in the parking lot, put my purse away in the broom closet and put my car keys in my jewelry box.


When my best friend was pregnant with her first, she had several distressing conversations with her husband. You see, they had just bought a new car. A safe new car that she insisted that they must have for the new baby because she wasn't going to take the bus to the birthing centre. Well, with a new car comes new insurance. Normally Karen is a very modern liberated independent sort of gal and her husband understands and appreciates how involved she is in making important financial decisions. Well, after a few arguments about insurance and money and how annoying he had suddenly gotten, she had had ENOUGH.

"I don't care about ***** insurance. Figure it out yourself! I'm busy growing someone!"

As for me, well, I can't drive at all after seven months and my family suffers through very salty food for the duration.

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