Crazy little thing called me

Last night, there was moment of panic when I finished moisturising my hands and discovered that I couldn’t find my wedding or engagement ring anywhere.

I was in bed so I naturally searched all the covers and pillows. I accused Ash of stealing and hiding them in some nasty ‘man humour’-type game (I’ll never understand mens need for cruel, they-think-it’s-hilarious, jokes, e.g. husband dumps a load of water down wife’s back while she’s sat on the loo, soaking her & her fresh new PJ’s simply because she flicked a drop of water at him earlier on – not a fake scenario; happened last night – to me.*scowl*) But he didn’t have them.

Turns out I’d already put them back on my finger. How old do you have to be to have dementia? Anyway I think I have it – that thing – what’s it called again? Oh yeh, dementia.

It started during my first pregnancy and has escalated since then. Some people call it ‘baby brain’; I call it ‘all of the time brain’. Because it didn’t stop after I had Noah. Oh no. It went on & on. And then we had Tobias and it continued. Well, Tobias is now fourteen months old, and I still forget what a hair dryer is called. I spend most of my time playing the crappest game of Charades with Ash, making ‘woo’ noises as I wave my hands madly around my head, trying to demonstrate to him what I want. Still, he’s catching on much quicker these days. Noah however, is not. And Tobias? Well, he doesn’t have a clue; just sits there and giggles. The cheek of it.

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