Night of the living Momma

The cleanest room in my house is my son's bedroom.
Beyond all belief? Not necessarily.
You see, he refuses to stay in there...unless I'm in there with him.
Awww! Ain't that cute!
No! No it's not!
I've just come back from a trip to Michigan. A week of wandering that great mitten of a state with the larva in tow. Every minute of my life for the past week has been filled with nothing but the kid. Zoos, hands on museums, swimming, sleeping, eating, walking, running, and riding in the back seat all done in the company of my delightful prodgeny.

I want my brain back!

My house is trashed. The husband made promises that it would be as clean when I returned as it was when I left. Been back 2 days and been promised 2 more times. Gonna have to do it myself.
Gonna have to do it while juggling the Bug's attentions. (that's his nickname, not a derogatory term)

I want my brain back!

The other day I remembered, if only for a brief instant, what it was like before I bred. Then the memory slipped away as I was cracking open another juice box.

My brain!

I'm about to be reduced to a mindless lump of mama flesh. You'll likely see me hanging outside the McDonalds playland waiting for the kid to come back to eat the last french fry. Or perhaps you'll see me staring glassy-eyed down the aisles of a local Toys-R-Us. Maybe you'll spot me wandering hopelessly around the front yard as the kid bounces a poorly aimed soccer ball off of my head.
No matter where I am or what I'm doing, listen very closely. If you stop you'll hear it...barely audible...a desolate groan...

"Brains..."