Motherhood Ate My Brain

I've had false alarms for years, but the other day it finally happened. I lost my last remaining pre-mommy brain cell. After 13 years, it's official: Motherhood ate my brain.

The lawsuit I'm planning to file against my three children names my mind as the victim, and the damages I hope to recover include... six American Girl dolls, 1.27 million Lego blocks, and my 12-year-old's collection of Beatles CDs?

I guess it's not worth it.

No, motherhood ate my brain and nothing I do will bring it back.

I could live with this side effect of motherhood were it not for the fact that while my brain dwindled my waistline expanded.

I never thought I would be one of "those" women who let herself go while caring for her children. I'm not sure how it happened. I worked very hard to develop a mommy style that could withstand chocolate pudding and sweet potato stains while retaining some of my pre-mom style. When I look at pictures of me with my first two babies, I can still recognize Kathy ca. 1997.

But, I think it was just one too many mommy crises that did me in.

Two rides in an ambulance with Tom because of allergic reactions to peanuts, five MRIs for Lizzy, plus one 48 hour brain scan, two surgeries for Peter, countless speech, occupational and physical therapists coming in and out of my house for each child, a calender full of meetings for three different schools, a husband who commutes and does not get home till late, a host of specialist and late night calls from doctors that scared the bejeezus out of me, and much, much more!

Being the obsessive and compulsive person I am, I could tell you the origin and situation of each pound gained, each pound lost, and each pound re-gained.

It wouldn't be so bad if I didn't react to every stressful situation by eating. Before I had my children, the stress of life may have caused me to gain a pound or two, but then my life would go back to "normal" and so would my weight. What am I supposed to do when crazy is the new normal?

This year, after countless weight loss programs, work-out DVDs and trips to the gym I made the resolution to not make any resolutions about my weight. Being a fan of the author Geneen Roth long before Oprah found her, I thought it would be easy to go back to the conscious way of eating she prescribes. It worked in my twenties and half of my thirties with great success.

I would eat when I was hungry and feel my feelings when I wasn't. I would slow down, enjoy my food in a relaxing and stress-free enviroment. How hard could it be to go back to my pre-mom ways of eating?

The other night is a perfect illustration of just how hard it is going to be.

The children and I were eating dinner together, which we do most weeknights because my husband gets home too late to join us. I was sitting there trying to enjoy my dinner and listen to my hunger.

I was dealing with a wonderful case of tween attitude from my 12-year-old son and trying my best to not engage in an argument over his bedtime. At the same time, my youngest decided that he would try to eat his dinner, which was pasta, without any hands. My daughter, who has special needs, was in her own world talking to herself one minute, laughing at her brother the next, and occasionally screaming out of frustration to add some variety.

I wish I could say this was unusual, but it's not. What was unusual, was my complete lack of patience. I couldn't muster one ounce of compassion and sat there fuming. I was tired and cranky and had had enough. At that moment, I could throw each child out the door or do something equally drastic.

I started to give my usual spiel of: Tom don't argue with me... Peter, don't eat like a puppy, and... Come on Lizzy focus. But, this time using the years of vocal training my parents paid for, I sang it in my best opera voice.

All logic went out the window. My mom brain took completely over as I insisted that if my son was going to continue to argue with me he was going to have to sing it. There we were, four people having our own little production of "Mommy's finally flipped."

Suffice it to say, we all started laughing. And I got through another meal without selling one of my children.

Our little production made such an impression on Lizzy that the next day I learned from her teacher that when she couldn't move her chair to her satisfaction she started to complain by singing in an operatic voice.

"Isn't that funny Kathy, where could she have picked that up?"

Where indeed?

Oddly enough it was on this night that I knew all my pre-mom brain cells were gone. And I had a pretty good idea of how not only I reached my present size, but how hard it was going to be to find my way back. It's very hard to listen to your hunger when the noise of your children blocks it out.

Knowing my obsessive nature I trust I will find the balance between the stressed-out mom I am and the healthy, in-shape mom I have yet to become. I do enjoy the gym and have more physical stamina then I have had in years. I also make fairly good food choices, most days.

After all, it did take me almost 13 years to get here. I just hope it doesn't take me another 13 years to return.

More Coffee. Amen.

Tuesday was like most days: I woke up around 4:30, had a cup of coffee, and glanced at the paper my husband left on the kitchen table.

I did my mom check of the backpacks, wrote the notes for the kids' teachers, and put snacks into the bags of my second grader and kindergartener.

Usually, I shower and get dressed. But, I was so sleepy that I went back to bed.

I never worry about going back to bed. I have an internal clock that wakes me when I need to get up. If that fails, my husband is usually up around 5:30-6:00 so he can catch his train. It's a no-fail system.

Except for Tuesday.

I awoke with a pleasant feeling from a dream with my husband. (I think George Clooney was in the dream too, but, don't tell my husband.)

Then I see the clock on the TV--6:55.

My sleepy brain quickly wakes up. The internal mom list goes off in my head. Lizzy's bus will be here at 7:25... Peter's at 7:35... What day is it? Tuesday. Early chorus rehearsal for Tom. He has to be in by 7:45.

No one is up.

This is not good.

"Joe. You picked a Tuesday to forget to set your alarm" was the loving way I woke my husband.

"OK. Everybody wake up," I yell as I throw on my clothes and splash water on my face. No time for even the smallest amount of makeup. I don't even have time to comb my hair.

I wake my special-needs daughter, which can be tricky.

"Lizzy, we have to get up, now. We're late. Come on honey." I put a warm cloth on her face, direct her to the bathroom, get her clothes, get her dressed.

No time for her to do it herself today. Quickly, quickly. I help her put the leggings on her long legs that I am very envious of. 

"Lizzy, we'll wear the pink dress today," I say in my cheery, try-not-to-panic, mommy voice.

"Pink dress," she replies.

Now her hair.

"That hurts," she says in a pretty loud voice. I know what's coming next.

"I live in fairy land" in an even louder voice.

"Lizzy, no fairy land, the bus is going to be here."

I rush to the kitchen and quickly give her some juice and her medications. I say to myself, 1 pink pill, 1/2 a green pill.

"Do you want some cereal?"

"Yes."

I get two bowls and fill with Cheerios. Milk for her, no milk for Peter.

I now get Peter, my youngest up.

"Wakey, wakey, we are in a rush. We have to move now. The bus will be here soon."

"I don't want to go to school. I want to stay with you." His new morning saying.

"Peter, we are going to school." This is said in my I've-had-enough mommy voice.

"I want something to eat," another new phrase we say a lot.

"I have cereal at the table. Sit next to Lizzy."

"I don't want cereal. I want something to eat."

"Peter, this is not a diner. We have cereal today or nothing."

"OK mommy." I love that kid.

Now I am running around and yelling at my oldest to get ready.

"I can't wake up mom. I am sooo sorry."

"No sorry, no sorry, just wake up." This is said in my I-wonder-how-much-I-could-sell-you-for mommy voice.

The clock says 7:20.

Wait outside with Lizzy for her bus.

"Princess Lizzy, your chariot awaits," is the greeting she gets from the aide on her bus. I smile and say a quick hello to both him and the bus driver. Lizzy smiles, kisses me from the window with the help of the bus aide. And she is off.

One down.

Now I check Peter. His coat is on. Great. Yell at oldest again.

"Thomas, you are going to chorus rehearsal whether you are dressed or not. For all that is holy, please move your tail." (I didn't really say tail. I'm a mom, not a saint.)

Now I wait outside with Peter. He is pretty happy, even though he was carrying on 10 minutes ago that he was going back to bed. I like that about him. His bus comes. Get him on the bus.

"Bye mommy. I love you."

My day is made! We blow a kiss to each other.

Two down.

"Joe since your car is blocking mine, can you take Tom to chorus?"

"I'm leaving now." Mind you he is in his underwear.

"That's fine honey." 18 years of marriage, I know when to say something and when not to.

Five more minutes they are off. 

I herd them off to the door as if they are cattle.

"Remember, I have my club today, I need to be picked up at 5:00."

"Yes, I know, have a good day."

"You too, mom. I love you."

I adore that kid.

My husband and I share a very quick kiss.

"I drop him off at the front for Chorus, right" my husband says getting into the car.

"Yes. Goodbye, I love you" I yell from my front door.

"I love you too."

I love that man.

Everybody's out. I pour more coffee in my Mom cup.

Amen.