Children are thieves. We all know they steal a piece of our heart forevermore upon their entry into this world. Moms also lament about the thievery of their own minds through the often coined “pregnancy brain.” I contend that the older my child gets however, the more of my brain she thieves. I am convinced that the more she amasses experiences, activities, and possessions, all the more of my brain loses its own prime real estate. I’m renting space in my own head while over time, becoming the landlord of her thoughts, actions, and possessions.
Case in point: I can tell you that her Phineas and Ferb playset is safely ensconced in plastic baggies in a black sparkly purse crammed between a bucket of stuffed animals and the crate of Barbies at the bottom of her closet. I can also tell you that they are in plastic bags because they need to be fumigated due to whatever debacle Professor Doofenshmirtz got them all into. I however cannot tell you quite when I washed the towels that are sitting in their mildewey stench in the washing machine.
This is often a point of contention in my household. On one side is my dear husband, frustrated that I yet again, forgot to call about that insurance screwup. On the other side is my dear daughter with her big blue eyes and batting eyelashes imploring as to the whereabouts of the 2 inch plate of food that came with her Minnie and Daisy playset for Christmas.
In the middle is I, sitting in a heap of worn out real estate war.
Oh, and the insurance number is at school… I think. The play food? Why, it’s in the bin with the Littlest Pet Shop toys in the basement. Check the front left corner. I’m fairly certain it is there because Minnie was conducting a pet salon and the pets needed food. Naturally.
While I very much enjoy helping those big blue eyes solve the problems of the world, this momma needs to take back some of her own real estate. I forsee an eviction of sorts. The first to go?