I feel like I’ve been in a fog since Sami was born. Mommy brain is real. I know it must go away, because there are a lot of smart moms in the world, but man do I feel stupid these days.

Yesterday I locked the keys in the car — with the keys in the ignition. All I could think was, THANK GOD Sami wasn’t locked in there too. If it wasn’t for the good samaritan mechanic across the street, I would have been fucked, waiting two hours for our roadside assistance people to come and take care of it. Thank goodness I am breastfeeding, because Sami got hungry and I was able to whip out a boob and feed him while this whole ordeal was going on.

I’m in a weird space where I can see and remember my pre-Sami ambitions, but it’s as if they are dangling out of my grasp. I spend an inordinate amount of time cruising baby-related websites and reading inane posts about cloth diapers and diaper bags. I envisioned spending my down-time reading novels, plotting the revolution, things of that nature. Instead, I cruise Craig’s List for great deals on used baby gear that we don’t need. I watch “Desperate Housewives” on DVD because I can relate to the show’s title.

Clearly, Sami doesn’t give a shit about what kind of booties he wears. So, it doesn’t take a Ph.D. in clinical psychology to determine that I am trying to fill holes. Motherhood is all-consuming, intense, and mostly amazing, but I miss the other-than-mommy parts of myself. I’m trying to figure out who I am now–to take all the disparate pieces of me and reassemble them to make a semi-coherent whole. Which will of course always be changing and rearranging.

I guess one way of looking at this is: how would I want Sami to remember me? What kind of legacy do I want to leave behind? I don’t know that have the answers now, but it feels exciting to be formulating the questions. Sami is not quite 12 weeks old — the “4th trimester” is almost over, and I feel ready to step into an enlarged identity, a new sense of self. Meanwhile, I balance that against the Buddhist concept of not-self, anatta. I love to hold these paradoxes.