Jack be Nimble.
I forgot Wee Willy Winky.
It was 7 am and we were leaving the house for school.
It was still dark, it was freezing outside, I was holding 3 bags, a toasted cheese sandwich, a water bottle and my house keys.
My tights were falling down, my not quite dry hair was clinging to my sticky forhead, I had no make up on and we were probably going to be late.
Business as usual.
Having asked Addy to put his beanie hat on himself, it was now perched right at the very top of his head (think Brian Harvey East 17) and for some reason instead of pulling it down, he had started helpfully dancing around the driveway instead.
I slammed the front door, turned the key in the lock and spoke to myself out loud.
This is something I have recently started doing in the hope of jogging my own memory later in the day, when I suddenly panic that I have forgotten to do something monumental.
I have turned in to a Grandma.
Soon I will no doubt be wearing tartan pants, sewing cutesy slogans on to cushions and using words like ‘frock’ and ‘honkers’ instead of dress and knees.
Swinging one of the bags back on to my shoulder and heading for the car I smiled again as I took in my four year old, in all of his glory, now pretending to river dance.
Wouldn’t it be nice if life was still that simple?
It is 7 am.
Someone has packed and prepared my bags and lunch, someone is driving me to school, and someone dressed me and knows I will be warm. I have no responsibility at all because I am 4. I now have 30 seconds to kill while that same somebody locks our house up safe. I choose to spend this time… river dancing!!
Anyway, ‘oh Addy you look like…’
I reached out in to the fog of my brain.
Not the candle bloke, not the bloke in the stripy pyjamas, the guy with the hat…
It is the most frustrating of feelings.
The word I want is right there in front of me, I just can’t grab hold of it.
‘Who mummy? Who do I look like?
‘Never mind, come on Michael Flatly get in the car – let’s get you to school.’
I worry a lot.
I worry about getting cancer and dying, I worry about the occasional suicidal thought that still flashes through my brain, I worry about leaving my hair straightener on sitting next to the wicker basket and the house catching fire, and I worry that very quickly the amount of things I am forgetting on a regular basis is increasing.
I do not have health related anxiety.
I used to.
But being brutally honest, depression kinda whipped the fear of death away from me.
I do not worry about death.
Wherever I was before I was born has not left me scarred so when I die I am sure I will be fine.
No, I worry about Addison in the event of my death.
I worry about Addison a lot.
I worry that one day one of his friends will read this blog and bully him. I worry I am no longer able to be as honest about my depression on here in case one of his friend’s mum’s reads it and thinks I am insane and untrustworthy (that would be a great slogan on a cushion- INSANE AND UNTRUSTWORTHY!) and I worry that when he grows up he will turn in to a mother hater.
I also worry about taking this blog down as it is my only life line, and I worry that if I don’t stop smoking soon I will be unable to walk up the stairs without passing out.
And now, on top of all this, I am now also worrying I am losing my memory.
Did I say that already?
In the past two months I have left the house unlocked twice, have arrived back to my car after the school run to find it leisurely chilling in the middle of the road (no handbrake), have forgotten the name of my god children twice, have arrived at work on days I am supposed to be off, left my car keys hanging out of the car and found them in the exhaust when I’ve returned to my car, and finally, quite frankly the scariest of all, I forgot the name of the manager I was in a meeting with, and spent the whole time calling her Lisa. (Her name is Stephanie.) I have known her for 3 years.
Am I developing early onset Alzheimer’s or is this depression related?
Anyone else experience this?
Either way I am a little scared.
So to pass the time I am now going to River Dance.