Fog

For the last two post-partum months, I feel as though a heavy fog has been rolling through my mind and has created such a dense covering that my thoughts cannot complete their journeys and arrive at their appropriate destinations. The other day Matt and I were in the car and as we passed a gas station, I said, “Why does the sign say gas is a dollar something?” He looked at me and said, “Because that’s how much it costs.” Being homebound most days, I am not able to keep up with the constant fluctuation in fuel costs, but just a day before asking that brilliant question, I knew full well that gas cost around $1.50. Shortly thereafter we arrived at my in-laws who live about a half an hour south of us and I said, “Wow. They have snow here. We don’t have snow do we?” Uh, yeah. We did. It had snowed the night before and again, I knew it had, but somehow the synapses were not firing in the right succession and suddenly I became a total and complete idiot. And yet earlier that morning I had carefully chosen an outfit for Kenna to wear because it was one her grandma had gotten for her, so I wanted Grandma to see her in the sleeper. Days before I had done likewise, remembering what clothes came from what relative and chose Kenna’s attire according to who we would be visiting that day (and did the same for myself). So, I can remember the ever-so important information of who gave us what article of clothing and yet I cannot remember the price of gas or the weather conditions at our house less than an hour after leaving it?

So maybe the fog isn’t completely dense. It’s more of a patchy layering, covering what is common knowledge to most and leaving openings for those important memories to get through so I can be sure to dress my daughter in the correct sleeper for the day. I just hope it doesn’t settle in such a way to make me forget who I am. But even if it does, I’m sure I’ll still be able to dress accordingly.