My husband likes to remind me that baby brain is not a scientifically proven fact. He does so as he blows out candles and turns off burners I’ve forgotten about, reminds me of appointments and gently corrects my ass-backwards logic on simple topics. He is right though, there is not enough evidence to conclusively say baby brain is a real thing – and yet so many of us preggos report a variety of problems, particularly forgetfulness.
Some research has shown that pregnancy and motherhood have no negative cognitive impacts. Other studies have shown the presence of impaired memory during pregnancy and shortly afterward. Is it down to hormones? Sleep deprivation? Stress? A newish study suggested that during pregnancy, women use the right side of their brain more as they prepare to bond with, and care for, their newborn babies. But if there is no “real” cause, a likely explanation seems to be that baby-related shit just occupies an inordinate amount of brain-space and basically, something’s gotta give.
And give it did. Yesterday, I reached a new low. Actually, it was weeks in the making but shit finally got real. Let me put it this way: a lot of things happened in the first trimester, but paying my gas bill was not one of them. So with an overdue account of $212, I came home to a bright pink disconnection notice on my door. Here we huddle, bundled under the duvet in flannel pajamas with two cold, judgmental cats and only the white-hot heat of my embarrassment to keep us warm until morning.
Andrew was super cool about this whole debacle. No pun intended. I know I would not have cut him as much slack if this was his fuck-up. His understanding knows no bounds. Of course, while I was on the phone with the gas company arranging for reconnection, he casually mentioned that he dropped a four-digit sum at a charity auction the night before on a pair* of signed Muhammed Ali boxing gloves. Stings like a bee that one. Well played, sir.
*I stand corrected, it was A SINGLE GLOVE.