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Missing: Candy’s Mind

Candy's Column

Missing: Candy’s Mind

At yesterday’s doctor’s appointment, Baby Girl and I passed all of the standard 32-week checkpoints:  blood pressure looks good; enough weight gain to look like I’m packing a pot roast, but not a blue whale; ample amniotic fluid; Baby Girl settled in proper downward-facing position, where she is free to practice her roundhouse kicks on my ribs.

Great!  How reassuring!  Only… they failed to examine me for everything.

If the doctor had simply run a CAT Scan, she would have noticed that the better part of my mind is missing.  I’ve joked about Pregnancy Brain in a couple of other columns but, between you and me, it’s becoming increasingly worrisome.  My mind has officially eloped with my waistline somewhere in the Bermuda Triangle.  I’m constantly looking around to see if the men in white coats have tracked me down yet.  Thankfully, I think they’re too busy on tour with Britney Spears to be bothered with me right now.

Recent proof to include in the Missing Mind Report:

  • Last night, I opened the microwave to grab my cup of hot water, only to realize I MICROWAVED ABSOLUTELY NOTHING FOR A MINUTE.
  • I’ve stared at my computer screen for an hour, desperately trying to think of a (clearly difficult) word that’s eluding me, when it FINALLY comes to me:  “Jell-O!”
  • I just went up the stairs no fewer than five times to get my eyeglasses, only to be distracted by a cat or a speck of dust, and return to my desk… where I realize I STILL did not get my glasses.  And proceed to head upstairs again.  Repeat.
  • (This one may fall under the TMI Umbrella; however, considering that a team of men and women — and my mom — are going to spend many hours staring at and prodding my vagina in just a few weeks, my sense of boundaries is a little blurred right now.)  When I went to the bathroom to take my requisite urine test at the doctor’s yesterday, I FORGOT TO PEE IN THE CUP.   Yes, I had entirely relieved my bladder when I realized the empty cup was still sitting on the counter.  I believe I said something eloquent like, “Shit!”  Then desperately tried to squeeze out another drop in the actual cup, using old tricks like thinking of waterfalls, to no avail.  Which, as you can imagine, was great fun explaining to the nurse.
  • At least I remembered to go in the toilet, I guess.

If you happen to see my mind, please contact the Los Angeles Pregnancy Brain Department at 1-888-CRAZY-ASS-PREGNANT-WOMAN-ON-THE-LOOSE.

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Candy Kirby is the founder of The Laughing Stork and a professional fun-maker who will never stop chasing her lifelong dream: to find the Pomeranian or porn star after whom her parents must have named her. A humor columnist for Disney, Nickelodeon, Scary Mommy, Reductress and Redbook, she also used to be a staff writer for the soap opera, The Bold and the Beautiful, where she penned many scripts featuring prolonged heated stares and countless “Who’s the Daddy?” story lines. Candy lives in Los Angeles with her husband, two young kids and three rescue Persian cats, the latter of whom are the real brains behind this operation (so send all complaints to them).

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