I sat down to write last night and thought, Now what was I going to write about? Hmmm…oh, yeah. I was going to write about being forgetful. (I wish I were saying this for the benefit of this post. It really happened.)

I have been so forgetful lately that I actually told my cousin I was afraid I was getting early-onset Alzheimer’s. She replied, “Oh my goodness! I JUST went to the doctor for that!” It seems I’m not alone. Or, it runs in the family.

My sister has also been concerned about her memory lately and last week, she forgot my daughter’s name. I thought it somewhat odd that she couldn’t remember her niece. Until yesterday.

Yesterday, I went to the gym, put my coat in a locker and shut the door. I took my little lock – the one with the same three-digit combination that I’ve used for almost two decades – and as I went to place it on the locker, I couldn’t remember the combination.

If my brain could’ve made a screeching sound at that moment, it would have. Everything came to a halt. Well, everything except my fingers which were desperately twirling the dials into every conceivable sequence and pulling on the tiny lock. How do you use the same three numbers for 18 years and suddenly not remember them?

There I stood – a frantic fool in yoga pants, briefly looking up to see if any of the other women noticed. Because forgetting your lock numbers is far more embarrassing than standing half-naked in the presence of strangers, at least to me. I was working up a sweat before I even started exercising.

I eventually remembered my combination, but not before sitting on a bench with my head in my hands wondering how much time I had before I’d forget my own name. As much as I’ve been told this is normal and as many times as I’ve read memory lapses are common at my age, it’s still freaky to feel like your mind is betraying you.

The good news, though? My sister has been forgiven.

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Are you kidding me right now? You’re 14? That’s just crazy.

Your birth was terrifying. I went to the hospital for a routine ultrasound and you arrived the next day, 10 weeks too soon. You were all of 2 lbs. 9 oz. and so small that I couldn’t fathom you would ever be as big as you are now. I still worry about you a lot, but nothing like how I worried back then.

Here you are with the lamb that watched over you for the five weeks you spent in the hospital. This was a momentous occasion, because you had reached 3 lbs. For the record, that is pretty much no weight at all. I can gain 3 lbs. if I eat too many tortilla chips.

People talk so much about how far your brother has come, but you are a miracle too. I guess you’ve always made it look so easy. You make a lot of things look easy. Mostly reading books. And, math. And, softball. And, organization. And, a lot of other things for which you could give me lessons.

I am somewhere BEYOND proud of you for how far you have come from that teeny, tiny preemie. I was about to say that you are an amazing kid, but you’re not really a kid anymore. It makes my heart hurt to say that, but I’ll be okay. Just don’t talk about going away to college or I’ll burst into tears. Fair warning.

Now, that lamb is dwarfed by your 14 year old self. See it? Up there by your head? It’s barely visible and yes, that’s the same lamb. Also the same person, but in a bigger bed and with less monitors and hospital bills.

There is something about you, though, that makes me NOT look back. With you, I tend to look forward. You have so much to offer this world and I can’t wait to see where you go and what you do. I have never been more sure of anything than I am of the fact that you can conquer anything to which you set your mind.

Except for how much I love you. I’m sure of that too.

Happy birthday, Goose. I’m so glad you were born.

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Remember the good old days, in November, when I posted every day? Well, except for that six day period around Thanksgiving and the other couple of times I missed, but other than that – every day.

Things are eight shades of crazy around here. We have something big planned. BIG, I tell ya’! And, we’re excited. That’s all I can tell you right now, mostly because I’m paranoid that something will go wrong if I do. Actually, now I’m paranoid that something will go wrong because I said I’m paranoid that something will go wrong. *head pops off*

Oh, and there’s this:

I’m honored to be on this list with some of the best mom-bloggers in the world. Can I get a “woot!” I need to make a list of the best mom-bloggers who aren’t on that list, because we need more lists! I am not paranoid about lists, so that’s good. I should find something about lists to worry about.

I was shocked to find out the lyrics to The Kinks’ song, “Destroyer” don’t say, “Paranoia, will destroy ya,'” they say, “Paranoia, the destroyer.” I’ve been using that line for 30 years. I’ll have to add that to the list of lyrics I’ve gotten wrong. Yay! Another list.

Speaking of lists, how’s your Christmas shopping going? I’ve barely even started. I’m going to make a list for that today too. Right after I pull all of my hair out.

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I was having a really bad day today. Keep in mind that my bad day does not compare to the bad days of many other people, I know this. I realize that saying I had a bad day when my day was perfectly fine makes me sound like a jerk, but when I get overwhelmed I just kind of shut down – or melt down – and right now I have a lot on my plate and not enough time to get it done. Plus, I have a zit in my nose.

By the time this evening arrived, I was nearing shut down mode. I was sitting with my head in my hands and the biggest decision that I could manage to contemplate was whether I should have rum and egg nog, wine and Zoloft, or just down a big container of Tums.

Until this showed up on Twitter (thanks Metalia, and I mean thanks in the way that I’m thankful for the pimple in my right nostril):

Tums it is!

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