Focusing Ain't Your Thing

I am not a morning person. I admit this gleefully and with pride. I have never been a morning person, nor do I have any plans to become one. This morning I was standing in the kitchen fixing lunches and my super delicious protein shake breakfast simultaneously when my husband came in from feeding horses. He asked me a question about something totally unrelated to lunches or breakfast, so off I went to the bedroom to find the answer. When I came back, here's how the conversation went:

Me: Here, I found what you wanted to know.

Husband: Thanks! You're such a good mom.

Me (suddenly noticing that I have put my daughter's lunchbox in her backpack without its ice pack, as said ice pack is still sitting on the counter): Thanks! I'm such a good mom that I forgot to put the ice pack in Savannah's lunch. It probably won't stay cold without it.

Husband: Well, that was my fault. I came in here and distracted you from what you were doing.

Have I mentioned how much I love this man?

Husband: I mean, let's face it, focusing ain't your thing.

Me: Excuse me? (Picture non-morning person face here.)

Husband: I just meant that you have a lot of distractions in your life these days. Makes it hard to focus on any one thing.

Oh, really? So he, too, has realized that there has been some collateral damage from this whole motherhood thing. Fascinating. I honestly believe the short people climb out of their beds, sneak down the stairs, and suck microscopic amounts of my brain out through my ears while I sleep at night. I also believe that they multiply in the closet, but that's a story for another day.
Fine, I admit that my attention span was never going to set any world records, as evidenced by the fact that the only thing I ever got in trouble for in Kindergarten was talking to the person next to me. And lying to my mom about how many times I got in trouble for talking. But again, I digress.
So I colored my picture faster than the other kids. I was done. I was bored. Get over it. I managed to rein it in often enough to graduate a few times, which I consider a major accomplishment.

When I stumbled blindly into the mother "hood" I had NO idea what I was getting myself into. Remember, I lost my mom at 18. We had barely discussed my wedding, much less pregnancy, childbirth, and all that other crap people don't tell you about becoming a mom. I could write for days about the physical damage alone.

Carrying multiples is not for the faint of heart. I completely blame my husband for our twins. I mean that in only the nicest way. The day I told him I was pregnant, his first words were, "I hope it's two! Maybe we'll have one of each!" In his mind, he was thinking, "and that way, we'll be done!" To which I said, "You better bite your tongue. There's not enough room in this body for one other person, much less two!" To which I say: we plan and God laughs. My stretch marks have stretch marks, nothing is where it used to be, and there are multiple issues that are not going to be resolved without general anesthesia, a scalpel, and sutures. Lots of sutures. I get to answer fun questions like, "Mommy, why is your bellybutton deeper than mine? And all blurry?" I now have a much deeper understanding of why the women in National Geographic look the way they do. I thought it was because they didn't wear bras. NOPE! It's because they had babies. Lots of babies.
A couple of years before I got pregnant, I went shopping with a friend who was expecting twins. As she was trying on clothes, she said, "I'd let you come in the dressing room with me, but you don't need to see this. You might not ever want to have kids!" Maybe I should have insisted. After a third child, she has either had plastic surgery or looks good enough to make people think that she did. More power to her!
I suppose I knew somewhere in the back of my mind that my body would change. And, yes, the first time around I was one of those people who were stupid enough to think that having a baby (or two, as it turned out) wouldn't change every facet of my being. But I never figured on the mental part. I have forgotten everything, from the very mundane to the really important things since my kids were born. I have to say, I consider the fact that I can do just about anything with a screaming kid or someone saying, "Mom, mom, mom, mom..." in my ear to be pretty remarkable. Hey, maybe my ability to focus isn't as bad as I thought! What was I talking about, again? Oh yeah, the mental damage motherhood inflicts. Anyway, if I forget your birthday or show up somewhere with all of my makeup on except my eyebrows, think nothing of it. Apparently I left my modesty and my memory on the table in the delivery room.