Mommy Brain

On a recent trip to the supermarket, a group of women visiting from India ran up to Alex thinking he was a child celebrity. I told them he's a superstar in my eyes only, but they still wanted to take their picture with him. I can't make this stuff up.

To borrow a line from the classic TV show Cheers, “Sometimes you want to go where everybody knows your name.” In college, it was a bar or two (or three); now, it’s Target, Whole Foods, and Hannaford Supermarket. Yeah, I am cool.

It’s so bad that employees from all my favorite places to stalk have nicknames for Alex. At Target, the customer service manager, smiling widely with a Crest Whitestrips set of super white chompers on full display (hey, I’d take advantage of the discount, too), calls him a “ray of sunshine.” How’s my little ray of sunshine today?

Lucky him…today, he got not one, but two rays of Alex–because I suffer from a very bad case of Mommy Brain.

I was simultaneously steering the cart, playing with Elmo–Alex’s Bono, Elvis, and Mick Jagger rolled into one fabulous fur ball, chatting with my BFF in New Jersey, and looking for a baby gift. Keeping all my Target balls in the air–no dropped cell phone, no crashing into unsuspecting shoppers, no toddler sticky fingers (keep your eyes on your carts, Mommies)–I maneuvered in and out of the toy aisle with ease, and located everything I wanted to purchase. I zipped through checkout, unloaded the bags into my car, and took off for the post office to mail them.

It wasn’t until I was about to pull into the parking lot that I realized I bought everything for a girl, not a boy…and I have no idea why. I’ve known my friend is having a boy for months (I blogged about it, and I even know his name)! Mommy Brain strikes again.

Since giving birth, I have stopped talking mid-sentence, completely forgetting what I wanted to say. I have put oatmeal in the refrigerator, and milk in the cabinet. I have ordered a much-needed venti soy latte from Starbucks, paid the cashier, and driven off without my cup of caffeine courage. I have gone to Target to return something to the shiny-toothed customer service manager, and forgotten it at home or misplaced the receipt who knows where (FYI–Target has a $70.00 per year limit of items one is allowed to return by showing one’s driver’s license, and I have already far exceeded that amount because Alex is so stinkin’ cute…or he feels bad I am such a hot mess…whatever).

I am convinced I pushed out IQ points when I had my son. Or I burned as many brain cells as a pothead during my two-day labor haze. Or both. Sometimes I feel the pressure of a pop quiz when someone asks what day it is. It’s not normal.

One thing I don’t forget–only because I write everything down–are my dishes. Tonight I made baked scallops, and my husband–What’s his name?— said they were delicious. At least that’s what I think he said.

Do you have any examples of Mommy Brain?

Baked Scallops

Juice of 1/2 lemon
1/2 cup of white wine
4 tablespoons butter
1 1/2 pounds bay scallops
1/2 teaspoon paprika
1/2 cup Italian breadcrumbs
1/4 cup parmesan cheese
1 teaspoon fresh parsley, chopped, plus more for garnish–if desired
3 cloves garlic, minced
Salt and pepper, to taste

Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Place 3 tablespoons of butter, white wine, and lemon juice in a baking dish. Heat in the oven until melted.

Saute garlic in 1 tablespoon of butter; set aside. Mix breadcrumbs, paprika, parmesan cheese, parsley, salt, and pepper in a bowl. Add the garlic that was sauteed in butter to the mix, and work through (make sure they’re no lumps).

Place scallops on the bed of liquids in a layer, and top generously with breadcrumb mixture. Bake for about 20 minutes. Don’t forget to serve!

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