Or at least it feels that way sometimes. I've run into more walls, stubbed my toe frequently, and put on more clothes in a backwards rush than I ever did without a son. I was much stupider around when Shane was first born, but some of that could be attributed to sleep deprivation. Now most of my foibles can be attributed to focus deprivation.
Whenever Shane is anywhere within my vicinity, a portion of my brain seems to be devoted to baby status checks. Is my son breathing? Are there any munchies close to him that I wouldn't classify as munchies? How clean is the area around Shane? If I'm actively playing with Shane, another part of my brain shifts into parent paranoia and warns me of situations I want to avoid at all costs. Situations such as making sure I can easily put a hand behind Shane's back before he arches so far back he falls or making sure I don't bump him into something as I turn or walk around. As far as I can figure, the portion of my brain used for status checks and parental warnings is large enough to impair my already limited cognitive capacity. The amount of moronic and klutzy things I do when my son is around is a hundredfold when he is not. Thankfully, the stupidity that struck during my working hours was always my typical idiocy rather than the baby-enhanced variety.
I've definitely been less baby-impaired as Shane has aged, but I'm pretty sure the condition is going to be permanent. What do you think?
The whole situation brings a quote from one of the coolest American authors to mind: Mark Twain.
“When I was a boy of fourteen, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be twenty-one, I was astonished by how much he'd learned in seven years.”
It's not the same context, but I'm sure once Shane hits fourteen it'll be a battle to convince him I'm not a babbling idiot.
PS - Every time I find a severed cricket leg on the floor, I love my cats just a little more.
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