Momnesia: Oh, It's Real

It’s been said that there are some things a person never forgets. Whether it be riding a bicycle, our first loves, our weddings or the births of our children, these are supposedly ingrained in our memories forevermore. 

There is truth to that.

My husband and I are celebrating our 19th wedding anniversary tomorrow, and I don’t need to look at the photos or the videotape to recall even the smallest details about that day. I’m able to remember his expression as he walked down the aisle. I can recall his touch when my grandfather placed my hand into his and still chuckle thinking about his pink lipstick-tinged mustache shimmering in the lights after our first married kiss. 

I vividly remember the births of each of my children, the exact times they were born, their measurements and even the lighthearted banter with the doctors and nurses. If you were to ask me to describe what each was wearing when I brought them home from the hospital, I could. This has me wondering why we remember details of some events and not others.  

Case in point: I completely blanked as to the amount of chaos involved in getting an infant out of the house. This seems like something I should easily recall after having done this countless times with my four children.  

My grandson, Carter, was in the NICU for three days because of a delivery complication. When he was released, they wanted him checked by our doctor within two days as opposed to the standard two-week checkup. My daughter wasn’t up for this trip alone so soon, but at one time, I used to take four kids to the doctor at one time all by myself.

How hard could it be? Just strap him in the car seat and let’s roll, right? Wrong.

“Momnesia” has kicked in, and the madness that can ensue when attempting such a feat had been erased from my memory. In my defense, when I did this the first time around, I was not also simultaneously persuading one teen to do homework; helping another find a missing black shoe for a job interview; and listening to a third present her case as to why she needs expensive hair extensions for senior prom.

It’s okay. In 10 years I’m sure I won’t be thinking about any of that, either. Momnesia isn’t necessarily bad.  

I strapped the baby in the car seat and realized that I didn’t make a diaper bag. Once, as a new mom, I foolishly made a quick trip to Walgreens with just the baby and no bag.  That wasn’t Momnesia, it was naïveté. Don’t ever try that. 

Preparing for every possible emergency, I quickly assembled the diaper bag and out the door we went.

When the cool air hit my face, I decided the baby needed a jacket in addition to the blanket. An easy enough fix, but when I tried to put the baby back in the car seat, the straps no longer fit. After a quick consult with the car seat manual, I thought we were ready to go until Carter started his now familiar “change my diaper” screech. 

The rest of the story goes something like this: unpack, change baby, remember why a peepee teepee was invented for baby boys, redress baby, change my clothes, clean the carpet, strap him back in car seat and, of course, forget about the jacket that started this whole predicament in the first place. 

Oh, what we grandmas will do for our grandkids!

The exhausting situation made me realize why most people don’t have babies in their 40s, but with age does comes wisdom and in my case, back surgery, as well.

Without time to repeat the whole process and already feeling an unpleasant twinge, I decided to save seconds, sanity and my sciatic nerve by simply putting his jacket on backwards over the car seat straps.  

You know those dreadfully unattractive, backwards blankets with arms that have taken the world by storm? I’m sure they were invented by a crazed grandma trying to get her grandson out of the house. 

We made it to the doctor and my daughter found her shoe. My son did his homework and while this court dismissed the case of the hair extensions due to cost factors, my daughter appealed my decision to a more supreme court (my mom) and won.

No surprise. That’s what we grandmas do.