The week, it's over. I have nothing to show for it except that all my people are alive and well.
I can't remember from one day to the next what is going on. What I did yesterday. What I might be supposed to do today.
It's this part of the Newborn Fog that I blissfully forget after each child is born.
The part where I gaze at my husband and wonder if we still speak the same language.
The part where I listen to my kids and wonder how it is that they have gotten so big and where did that intellect come from anyway?
The part where I look at the pile of crumpled clothes in the basket and can't remember if they are clean and unfolded or dirty and discarded.
The part where I all but drop all communications with friends because I can barely find time to breath, never mind have an actual phone conversation or a visit.
The part where I read the same page in a book forty-eleven times before I lay it aside, finally realizing that I have no idea how to digest the written word.
The part where every time I look in my closet, I wonder what will fit today.
The part where I gaze into my new baby's eyes and forget any frustrations that were nagging at me just two seconds ago.
Yes, forgetfulness can be a good thing.