I entirely buy into the premise of Placenta Brain – that affliction that strikes pregnant and postpartum women alike (let’s say postpartum up to about 7 years). It’s an ailment that enables you to excuse behavior like forgetting to pay bills, watching ANTM reruns when Lost is on, and struggling with the mental retrieval of such challenging words as bike and your own name.

I didn’t realize however that it totally killed my mental parenting scrapbook too.

I’ve always prided myself on my ability to remember insane details. It’s a running joke in my family that I’ll say to my dad, Hey I ran into Steve last week – remember Steve? Oh you know…you met him after that dance in 7th grade when I was wearing the purple satin knickers. He was in an orange velour shirt, and he was there with that girl Katie, the one who got braces in 5th grade and had that dog I hated…

I am not exaggerating. Ask my dad. These very words have come out of my mouth.

But now I find myself unable to remember any information that might benefit me as I prepare for welcoming another ankle-biter into the Mom-101 household.

Did Thalia even exist before today? You wouldn’t think so from my parental exchanges of recent days.

This week a friend stopped by with her ten month-old and I asked in all seriousness, “do you want a blanket or something on the floor for her to crawl around?” This is a kid who’s on the verge of walking. And talking. And like an idiot that’s never had a kid of her own, I’m thinking she might like to lie on a blanket and drool, maybe bat her hands at a nice black and white mobile dangling above her head.

“Yeah, I don’t think she’ll stay on the blanket,” my friend answered, way too kindly.

The day before, I was in the local toy shop and a woman asked me to suggest a good toy for her 11 month-old on the plane.

“A Magnadoodle,” I said confidently. “Oh wait…is he picking up crayons yet?”

“Um, not really,” she answered, as she walked away freaking about her son’s delayed crayon-holding skills instead of realizing that I had absolutely no idea what I was talking about.

I even had a mom next to me in the diner ask at what age it was okay to feed her baby yogurt. My answer:

“How old is your son?”

“6 months.”

” Yeah, that sounds about right.”

Der.

If I can’t remember what Thalia was doing five or ten months ago, for God’s sake how am I supposed to remember what to do with a newborn? Am I going to forget to support her head? Put her on her stomach sleep? Am I going to try and feed her Cheerios before she has teeth? Oh wait, you can do that right? They gum them? Ugh, I don’t even know. I’m just not that mom who can recall when Thalia went from crawling to cruising, or when to start using soap in the bath or diaper wipes instead of those cloth thingies with water.

I JUST DON’T REMEMBER.

I want to be the cool BTDT mom. The one who’s like eh, this baby stuff is old hat.

But instead I feel doomed to repeat Mom-101 all over again, only with saggier boobs.

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I am not entirely comfortable with asking for votes in the Bloggers Choice Awards, but I do feel very comfortable giving a huge shout-out to Ian for nominating me for Best Parenting Blog and Hottest Mommyblogger which…well that made me laugh so hard I almost peed. Which is not saying a lot these days, come to think of it.

Yes, hot. Very hot.

I’m actually hoping to win 137th Best Parenting Blog. So if you see that category, that’s where I’d like you to vote for me. I’ve heard I’m well on track.

While you’re there voting for Mir however, I will be shameless about asking for you to vote for Cool Mom Picks for Best Shopping Blog and Best Blog about Stuff (thanks, Crank Mama!) because, well…it’s great. And I can only say that because there are so many other people that have helped make it great. Kristen and I just take the credit.