Something happened to Andrew some months ago, but, for some reason, I never wrote it down. Why? I can’t say. I blame motherhood. In fact, more and more often, Andrew is telling me about conversations he claims we have had, conversations in which he says I have been an active participant and not just someone saying, “Mmmhmmm” absentmindedly, but of which I have absolutely no memory. But here’s the thing: not only do I not remember the conversations, but I also do not remember having the opinions I apparently proffered. For example, today I noticed a big chunk of wood missing from the dining room doorjamb. I was annoyed, and also confused, because it is not somewhere where something would crash into it, so I don’t understand how it happened. But tonight when I pointed it out to Andrew, he said that he had already showed it to me last month and that I claimed it had been like that for ages.
You know what else I blame on motherhood? My incredible inability to stay awake past 9:30 pm. Despite being very interested in watching Olympic gymnastics and swimming, I cannot stay awake. (Side note: Jack can dangle pretty well on the swing set, and – thanks to highlights On Demand – likes to proclaim, “I a gynnast!” as he does so.) The women’s gymnastic team finals are all a blur since all of my energy and focus was concentrated on keeping my eyelids at least semi-open. Last Monday, in fact, we downloaded StrongBad’s Cool Game for Attractive People, and I tried it out while Andrew took a shower. I’d tell you how it is, but I don’t know because I fell asleep. That’s right, I fell asleep while playing the game.
(I am not pregnant. Just tired.)
So to recap, motherhood is responsible for my sleepiness, my forgetfulness, and my lost time. Oh, wait, I didn’t mention the lost time? Well conversations are not the only thing I have forgotten since Jack was born. I also forgot the thing that happened to Andrew some months ago, which, as you will see if you will check the first sentence of this entry, is the actual subject at hand. Andrew recently asked me why I had never blogged about it, and I had to tell him that it was because my memory of the incident had been wiped, no doubt replaced by the precise inflection and rhythm of Mr. Hooper’s verse of “I’ve Got Two”. This loss is, as you will see, a tragedy.
It seems that some months ago, after watching a show on TV, Andrew tried to get up from the couch. And couldn’t. “Maureen!” he cried out, piteously. His feet, you see, were stuck between the couch cushion and the arm such that, when he tried to get up, the shift in his body weight somehow pinned his feet so that he could not get them out. But when he lay back down, he couldn’t bend his leg in the direction he needed to free his feet. So he needed me to pull the cushion back and free him from the Chinese Finger Trap of couches.