I have a friend who is a doctor. If you don't have one of these, I highly suggest that you go out and get yourself one; they're quite handy when you want to know why people get antibiotics for pinkeye when pinkeye is a virus (answer: for no real reason) or whether it's really that bad to do hot yoga while you're pregnant (answer: maybe). My friend was visiting this past weekend and I took the opportunity to pepper her with every pregnancy question I've been too embarrassed or forgetful to ask my OB. Like, why am I suddenly so much dumber than I used to be? Is the baby sucking up all my brain cells? Does that mean it's going to be the smartest baby in the history of babies?
Answer: I don't know, no, and no. Pregnancy Brain is not a medically recognized phenomenon, it turns out.
Huh. In that case, all those 2/3 vodka 1/3 diet snapple cocktails I drank in college have finally caught up with me, because friends: I am no longer smart. I vaguely remember that I used to be sort of intelligent. Sometimes. Capable of handling everyday tasks, at least. But lately... not so much. No much at all.
For instance, I took two checks to the actual bank the other day. Normally I just deposit checks in the ATM, but one of my checks was actually a money order and it looked a little suspect (remind me to tell you the backstory on the money order, which involves the Jetta that I cannot escape, even though I sold it two years ago) and I wanted to make sure it got deposited OK. I worried the whole way to the bank over that stupid money order. It had a little spot on the front for a signature, but the dude who sent it to me hadn't signed it. And are money orders even legit? They sure do not look it and I swear to God, if this thing is a fake and I have to deal with one more iota of bullshit over this car that I do not even own any more -- oops, I almost just walked right past the bank.
I walked up to the teller window and sent my checks in the little tube to the magical teller room, crossing my fingers that I'd just get a receipt back and be on my merry way. Instead, the teller appeared on the little video monitor and asked me to pick up the phone. That's never good.
Turns out, no, the money order was not valid until the dude signed it.
Turns out that I had also forgotten to sign the back the money order. And the back of the other, regular check.
Turns out that I had ALSO forgotten a deposit slip. Because apparently this is my first time ever using a bank.
I encounter tasks like this on a daily basis now; tasks that used to be very simple but now seem impossible to figure out. I'll try to dial a phone number at work and I'll have to type it in ten or eleven times before I get the digits in the right order. I have completely lost the ability to tell time on a non-digital device. Joel gave me a refresher on the three steps to starting up the scooter, but if there were $1000 on the line I could not tell you what those steps are right now. I continually try to unlock the front door with the car's key fob. We just got a check in the mail for our state tax refund with a little note that said, hey, so we tried to direct deposit your refund like you asked but you wrote down your account numbers wrong, dumbass. Spellcheck has become my very best friend, although I am still not sure I 100% believe it about "unvolatile" not being a word. I am pretty sure I ruined the hat I've been knitting since January because I was supposed to be counting and decreasing stitches and... yeah, that was more complicated that I anticipated.
This pregnancy brain feeling is distinctly different from the kind of insomnia fog I know well. I'm not tired or distracted, I just can't figure shit out. Even when I try really really hard, I can feel the cogs in my brain trying to turn and make sense of things and they just. can't. do. it. I think this must be what it feels like to be stupid.
I'm supposed to fly to San Francisco tomorrow (YAY!) and on top of worrying about the top of the plane ripping off mid-flight, I'm wondering if I should maybe ask Southwest to give me Unaccompanied Minor passes to wear around my neck. That way the flight attendants could make sure I don't try to leave behind my luggage or miss my connection or, you know, get lost on the way from the gate to the plane.