Mommy Brain

It’s official. I have Mommy Brain.

If there was any doubt that my memory was suffering from simulataneous hyperactivity and sleep deprivation, it disappeared in the grocery store somewhere between the canned corn and peas.

I was pushing my cart down the aisle, about to turn the corner, when I spotted a woman I knew headed my way. This wasn’t just any woman – she was a very high-profile professional who I interviewed almost daily before my departure from the newspaper a few months ago. And I couldn’t remember her name to save my life.

Was it Barbara? Carol? What company did she head? Was she a politician? I knew her face, I recalled our conversations but, dang it, if I had to introduce her, I’d be in a quandary.

So rather than put myself in that embarrassing situation, I did what had to be done – I swung my shopping cart around and hurried off in the opposite direction. As I wheeled from aisle to aisle and pretended to be absorbed with my shopping list and product labels, I scrolled through my mental Rolodex, searching for her name lest I bump into her as I rounded the corner. I didn’t bump into her, and I left the grocery store with her name still escaping me.

Then a few days later, inbetween washing clothes and sweeping the floor, her name popped into my head. I wasn’t thinking about the grocery-store incident at the time; in fact, there was no reason at all for her moniker to enter my mind at that moment. But that’s the thing about Mommy Brain – things come and go with no control on my end.

So let me apologize in advance if I bump into you and just nod and smile and don't address you by your name. And if you see me quickly swinging my shopping cart around in the opposite direction, now you know why.