BABY HEAD

I’ve got a bad case of “baby head.” I don’t know what else to call it and I don’t know if other people get it, but ever since my life became completely consumed by raising two kids I’ve been in a perpetual fog. I’ll be at the supermarket picking up the pancetta and shallots I forgot (due to “baby head”) for my asparagus recipe and the checkout girl will say, “That’ll be two dollars and fifteen cents, Sir.” (By the way, I was never called “sir” or “mister” until I became a parent, but that’s another post.) Anyway, I’ll hand the cashier two bucks and just stare at her like an idiot, waiting for my change.

I’ve also lost my memory. My mother will call and ask what I did the day before and I’ll draw a complete blank. We could’ve just had an incredible day at Disneyland where Walt Disney himself was unthawed from his cryogenic chamber beneath the Magic Kingdom and cooked us all dinner, and I wouldn’t remember. If it’s not tattooed on some part of my body like Memento, it didn’t happen.

And if that’s not bad enough I’ve also become just plain stupid. I’ll be at my favorite store, Target, and bring my parking ticket to the pay station like I’ve done a million times before, but suddenly I have no idea how I’m supposed to insert the ticket into the machine. I’ll literally try it ten times before I figure it out.

I didn’t experience “baby head” when I was a part-time stay-at-home dad or even as an every-other-day stay-at-home dad. But with two kids, I’ve definitely got it. Part of me doesn’t mind; thanks to my babyzheimer’s I literally don’t have a care in the world, all my real world stresses have kind of disappeared, though most have been replaced by the stresses from the world of childrearing. I’m not sure if this is necessarily a good trade because occasionally I find myself forgetting to remind myself to pay the bills.