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Tales from the Crib

Name: Rebecca Christman
Kids: stepdaughter, age 4; daughter, age 9 months
Works: associate editor of metroparent magazine, family peacekeeper
Favorite part of being a mom: Using my creative skills (or force) to make everyone happy and hear everyone giggle together
Least favorite part about being a mom: The growing pile of unfinished novels on my nightstand
Little known fact: As a perilous thrill-seeker and licensed skydiver, Rebecca previously though she had career potential as a jumpmaster.
Read "Tales from the Crib" and other parenting columns each month in metroparent in print or online at MilwaukeeMoms.com.

June 2008 - Posts

Taking the Leap

By Rebecca Christman
Tuesday, Jun 24 2008, 07:33 AM

I’ll be honest, when I was first approached to write a blog, I responded with a firm no.
 
My answer was most likely inspired by some self-help book I vaguely remember reading (skimming) in my 20s about busy women who are not able to graciously and guiltlessly say no. As someone who worked three jobs while writing a college thesis, I was never that woman to turn down an opportunity/job/volunteer project.
 
Still a new mom, I worried how I could fit it in. Or worse yet, how I could remember to post.
 
When I was pregnant with Anika, a veteran mom asked me if I was suffering from “Mommy Brain.” I was completely unfamiliar with the term, as my silent glare revealed.
 
“It’s true,” she said. “You get forgetful and flighty, but don’t worry, you’ll get it back—mostly.”
 
Mostly? It didn’t make sense then, but now I get it. I can testify to the existence of the urban legend of mommy brain.  
 
I "officially, for the last time" leave the house at least twice (on a good day). I’ve misplaced the electric bill. Three times. I’ve even forgotten to put diapers in the diaper bag.
 
Yesterday, for example, I tried to mail a birthday package to Anika’s grandmother. Overlooking the fact that her birthday was two weeks ago, the package was ready to go—photos of the children, a birthday gift and card. I planned to hit the post office on my lunch break, but before I left my office, I realized I’d forgotten the envelope with her address written on it.
 
I called home, ordered Anika’s daddy, Nate, to shuffle through my address book (I don’t know when or how it became so disorganized). I wrote the address on the back of another envelope.
 
As I walked in the door to the post office, I did a double- and triple-take through my purse. The envelope I wrote on minutes ago was still sitting on my desk.
 
Through clenched teeth, I planned to call a co-worker for the address. But my cell phone was sitting on my desk next to the envelope.
 
Her package still sits in the back of the car for when I re-attempt to send the package, hopefully within the month of her birthday.
 
Even with my forgetfulness, I’m hopeful I can write a blog people will find interesting enough to read. And I must have forgotten about my firm no, because when I was asked a second time to do a blog, I responded with a firm—and enthusiastic—yes.


 
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