Have you ever heard of pregnancy brain?
It’s a pregnancy induced fog that begins to take over your brain the day you see the positive pregnancy test and intensifies as you near your due date.
It’s a real thing – I swear.
I had a major case of it when I was pregnant with Katie, and hoped to avoid it this time around. Guess again.
Pregnancy brain has once again bullied its way into my life (or head), and coupled with the constant “momnesia” that results from more than a year of sleep deprivation, my brain is basically mush.
The condition leaves expectant moms at the mercy of those around them, hoping some kind stranger will notice their blank expression and turn them in the right direction.
Pregnancy brain is the reason I paid for my groceries and then tried to walk out of the store without my shopping cart. It’s also the reason I left my iPhone along Broad Street while photographing a Fourth of July parade (by the way, thanks to the person who turned it in!).
Yesterday, I stopped for gas on my way to work, and didn’t realize until I pulled into the office 20 minutes later that my purse was lacking a wallet.
Where had I seen it last? Oh yeah, on top of my car at the gas station. Crap. Time to panic.
I rushed in to work and called the gas station, hoping someone had turned it in. No such luck.
I scrawled a note to my boss and ran out the door, thinking, if I was quick enough, I might find my wallet along the side of the road before someone else did.
I made the drive from one side of Columbus to the other in record time. Not smart when you don’t have your driver’s license on you – I know. Pregnancy brain, remember?
I spent my morning walking up and down a busy four-lane road and learning why you should never drive on the berm when entering a freeway (someone might be walking there!).
Despite the best efforts of myself and a sympathetic police officer who helped me search, no wallet was to be found. I admitted defeat and made my way to the bank to begin the long process of cancelling every account in my name.
When I got there, to my surprise, I found out my debit card was already cancelled.
A Good Samaritan found my wallet and called my bank. They also left their name and number.
Upon hearing this, my eyes instantly welled up with tears. Here I was, assuming the worst (that within the two hours I been separated from my wallet, someone had already stolen my identity and cleaned me out), when that couldn’t have been farther from the truth.
I called my hero for the day, Rick, and found out he drives a street sweeper and had spotted my wallet. Later that day, he went out of his way to come to my office and reunite me with my lost possessions.
I repaid him with a restaurant gift card that had been in the wallet, which I had to beg him to take. He actually called me later to thank me again for the gift card, as if I was the one who had done something extraordinary for him.
All in all, the day was crazy, but ended well. I came home with everything intact, including my renewed faith in mankind.
Thanks, Rick, for saving my day. I hope your kindness comes back to you, full circle.
I can only hope another good-hearted person will be around the next time my hormone-addled brain gives out on me.