When I became a mother (or mama, mommy, or Julie, as my son likes to call me), I lost my mind.
First of all, having children obliterates any ability you have to think clearly for more than five minutes while in their presence.
Second, once you realize that you’ve lost your mind, you can never fully get it back (unless you work outside the home, in which case your mind is still not your own, but the company store’s).
And third, trying to do something as intricate as writing an entertaining story that flows, while your little guy climbs up your back and demands apple juice, guarantees that you’ve not only lost your mind, but made it gassy, too.
While “brain fart” can happen anywhere, to anyone, and at any time, it is especially prevalent in mothers who write with young children at home. If you’re like me, you love your kiddo(s) to death, but you’ve also got one eye on the calendar date circled with red Sharpie. You know, the day your child can go to kindergarten? That is the day of release, when the angels will sing and your fingers will fly across the keys in composition bliss without 20 million questions.
Until that wonderful day arrives, I will continue to wallow in my brain farts, writing stories, and loving my child every time he asks me why skeletons are made of bones, why dinosaurs have lots of hands, and why my head has suddenly doubled in size.