Horrible reality check for anyone who hasn’t been pregnant before: Pregnancy brain is totally real. It feels like I’ve lost about 20 IQ points and dropping. Evidence? The fact I forget totally normal things, like the word for, you know, the sauce that has tomatoes in it. Uh, tomato sauce? That’d be the one!
I drop things, and lose things, and have now been to the shops four or five times to pick up odds and ends, only to come home without the plug-in timer we need for our Christmas lights, which has been on our to-get list for ages.
The piece de resistance came this week, though, when I totally outdid all of those previous efforts. Months ago, I whittled down my selection for wall paint in our living room, settling on an avocado-green-ish colour that is a few shades lighter than our dining room walls. Last month, we tore down the retro 70s wallpaper. Last week, we had the walls patched and fixed. This week, we painted. And painted. And painted.
We were painting at night, which is always tricky because the light just isn’t the same as sunshine. As we applied the first coat, then the second, we kept wondering how it would look in full sunshine. (It’s been pretty cloudy here of late.) The colour just wasn’t quite what we expected. It must just be the light, we reasoned.
Painting complete, tape torn off, I still couldn’t get over the weird aqua tint of the room. It just wasn’t what I’d been expecting. So I held up the colour chip. And was horrified. While whittling down the colours from a handful of chips, I’d inadvertently kept an old option that had been voted off the island months ago. And that’s the one I took to the paint store, all bubbling with pre-painting excitement and dumb with pregnancy-brain. I had bought paint with the colour HC 117, when I had actually wanted to be buy HC 116. It didn’t even occur to me to check.
And now, here we are with a mint-green-ish living room, and I must head to the paint store to buy yet another can of green paint, this one with a slightly different number.
So beware, ladies with your ovaries all a-jumpin’. Forget all that worrying about losing your freedom. Be concerned that you’ll first lose your mind.