How Baby Brain Never Goes Away

My husband, our just-bathed and pajamaed daughter in his arms, walked into the bathroom as I stood in the shower and turned the water off. I could see my raccoon eyes and short hair in the mirror behind him and wondered if that was me.

"I saved your cookies," he said.

It took me a second. "OH. Shit." I'd left a batch of cookies in the oven probably 20 minutes prior. When I'd seen the wetness in my daughter's diaper, I knew it was time for her bath (assuming her emptied bladder would prevent her peeing in the tub. I was wrong.) I sat her in the water and saw the ripples; the pee. I undressed, got the shower going and told my husband to come get her when I called. I washed her in my arms in the shower and called a few times.

"Honey. Honeyyyy. We're done!"

Nothing. So I walked, dripping, into my daughter's room, laid her down in her crib and started putting a diaper on her. My husband apologized for not coming to get her when I called. I got back in the shower to wash my hair, leaving those cookies without a bit—not a teeny bit—of memory of what I'd been doing. Forget the cookies I'd planned to take to work tomorrow.

The mix looked pretty much like the one you see here, but with blue off-brand M&Ms mixed in, too. They turned out nicely, thanks to my husband (although I did add about a tablespoon of whole milk in addition to the butter, egg and vanilla the package instructs...seemed a little dry for my liking). Pretty freakin adorable packaging, though.

I got that mad-at-myself feeling. You know, like when you leave your keys in the front door overnight or forget to hit send on an important email. Oh, you don't know? Me neither.

My daughter is clean and now sleeping, after breastfeeding in my arms here at the computer. I hope my co-workers like these damn cookies. I also hope I don't burn our house down. 

As always, all opinions are my own.