When I was a little kid nothing would excite me more than when we were out and about and I set eyes on a very special poster. My stomach would bounce with joy at the sight of that special white basset hound dressed in his matching blue sweater and bobble hat, licking his lips and clutching his overflowing cardboard cup of blue raspberry icy slush.
Fast forward thirty years and suddenly it's not just my drink that I like chipped up. Apparently my head has decided it's time to join in with the slushy party. In fact I think it's fair to say my poor brain has turned into utter shite.
Currently there is a mush of absolute nonsense cluttering up my cells. I can't make sense of it half the time. It's difficult to concentrate for long periods and I am very easily distracted. I struggle to hold a conversation without turning my head and I often forget important things like birthdays or appointments. For some time now I have been sleep deprived and walking around with toothpaste splashes on my top and snot on my shoulder. I have even suffered dramatic wardrobe malfunctions such as the time I arrived at work wearing a black woolly dress, thick navy blue leggings and brown leather boots - yes this really did happen!
Once upon a time I was on it. Switched on. Great memory. Perfect time keeping. The person who never forgot a birthday. The organiser of slick reunions and great nights out. People spoke highly of my loyalty, dependability and organisation. I was a real go to girl. Sorted. So what the hell went wrong? When did I become a befuddled idiot who rushes about like a loon, flies by the seat of her pants and double books social engagements? Sometimes I can't even remember what happened the day before.
Some people might call it old age but at 36, I don't really think this is an excuse. No I'm afraid age is not the problem. I can actually pinpoint the second my mind flew away. When my brain became fried cheese and my head the frying pan. That moment was three years ago. It was life defining. A day I will never forget. Perhaps the biggest and the best trauma of my life. The one birthday I will always remember.
When I gave birth people said I might have something called 'baby brain' for a while. But just as the true horrors of childbirth are held closely to a mother's chest nobody told me that whilst spitting out my baba my brain would also undergo a secret rebirth of its own. It's like some crazy doctor whipped it out and then quickly plonked it back in there before I had the chance to notice it had been tampered with.
Am I the only one who has experienced this weird lobotomy?
Over time I have come to accept the more bonkers me. In the chaos that is my life and the muddled up clutter of my brain I am now a less affected person. I simply don't have time to be self-conscious or care too much about what others think. I am far too busy looking after everyone else to care.
Sometimes I think it would be nice to revisit my old self and be a bit less foggy. But what I have gained from the boy wonder is far greater than what I once was. I am in love like I never knew I could be and all of the big things that once would have held me back or made me question suddenly seem much smaller.
Three years ago I would not have written this blog.
Three years ago I would have worried what people think of me for writing it.
Three years ago I would have spent hours making it perfect.
Today I am too busy to question. I am brave. I am courageous. I am also a bit of a dick. But that's OK. Because the boy wonder loves me, slush for brains or not and I know he is going to love the story I am writing for him.
Just like him and my battered brain, it's very special.
(Originally published on liveyourdreamwrite.wordpress.com)
Visit livingwithmyelo.com for more blogs from Jude Coy.