Forget me not

Forget me not






Have you ever heard the phrase “she’s forgotten more than you’ll ever know about (insert topic here)” whatever, as a way of saying how much someone knows?

I think I have. I forgot who said it.

I forget a lot of stuff these days.

I forget to blog (for almost a month).

I forget to bring the stuff I need. That might be something to do with how much stuff I have to bring with me. Keys, breast pump, various breast pump parts, wallet, did I mention keys?, insulin, glucose monitor … the list goes on. When I leave for work in the morning I’m schlepping enough stuff for a short expedition to the Himalayas.

I forget to leave home the stuff that needs to stay. Like the car seat, when Big T needs to take Baby Three to the sitter.

I forget to sign school papers, and if I don’t RSVP to a party invitation as soon as I get it, I often forget that too.

I forget who has heard which stories.

I forget the names of people I’ve just met, and those who I’ve known for a long time. They usually come to me sooner or later.

So far, I haven’t forgotten anything really important, like one of my kids. I might run late, but I always know where they are and that I have to get them.

Someone did a study about why middle-aged women (and I think they would include me in that group) are so forgetful. The hypothesis seemed to be that it was hormonal. Turns out that the brains of middle aged women are no more forgetful than anyone else’s. It’s just that they have too much to remember.

Add in the sleep deprivation that comes from three widely spaced children, and it’s a recipe for forgetfulness. So I’ll keep making calendar notes and reminder lists and looking and listening for clues to the identity of the person I’m talking to. And if I’m lucky, I’ll forget everything I’ve forgotten.