But the same definitely can’t be said for brains.
In fact, mine seems to be shrinking since the birth of my third child a few months ago – and it’s a sorry state of affairs.
I considered myself a pretty organised person until baby Mabel came along. Having a second baby tested me for a while, for sure, but I still kept the cogs of the family moving pretty smoothly. I felt a bit foggy and stressed at times, but I definitely wasn’t forgetful.
But since she arrived on the scene, I am a forgetful, absent minded wreck of a woman!
Take this week, for example… My eldest – Stanley, aged 4 – is famous for his lack of communication when I pick him up from school.
“How was school today, Stanley?” I ask.
“Woof!” he replies.
“Did you enjoy your lunch today, Stanley?” I ask.
“Miaow!” he replies.
But on Monday, I didn’t get the usual onslaught of animal noises. After enquiring about his day at school, he turned to me with a cross look on his face.
‘You forgot to put my reading books in my bag, Mummy!” he scowled. “And when my group had their turn to read, I couldn’t join in.”
To say that my heart sank is an understatement. I had forgotten. For the first time ever, it hadn’t even crossed my mind to put those books in his bag that morning. I didn’t even have an excuse – it was the same day they always went in his bag. It’s scrolled in massive letters on a weekly calendar pinned by magnets to the fridge. They were even sat on the dining room table, right under my nose.
But still, I’d forgotten.
“I’ll put them in your bag tomorrow!” I stammered, clutching at straws.
“It’s too late. My group has already done the reading. You keep forgetting things, Mummy.”
Tears pricked my eyes – not because I blamed myself, as I know having a 10-week old baby is a pretty good excuse. But at the thought of him sat on his own while the others read. He loves reading! And he couldn’t join in! I wanted to break down in a sobbing heap right there on the sand of the carpark – but I couldn’t, of course, as I had a toddler to pick up from nursery down the road.
It isn’t an isolated case either. I sometimes forget to change Mabel’s nappy and she screams angrily under I work it out. I forget to put a banana in Stanley’s bag for his fruit snack, when I have done it every day for the last year. I even forgot that he had a National Day parade for parents on Sunday – and when my husband enquired “why were there parents on the school field this morning when I dropped him off?” my heart sank once again.
It seems that having a third child hasn’t just fried my brain, but caused it to explode.
An extreme case of baby brain.
And every time my heart sinks, I make a vow to try harder to remember things. I don’t want to let the kids down. I don’t want them to be the kids with the Mummy that always forgets things. The ones at PE classes without their kit. The ones without their sun hats so they aren’t allowed to play outside. The ones hungry at break time as their absent-minded, baby-brained mother forgot to pick up a banana from the fruit bowl and put it in their bag.
And I’m sure that baby brain will eventually subside. I’ll get more sleep and I’ll work out how to juggle three kids with a busy work life a little more effectively.
But until then, can I borrow a brain please?
I could really do with an extra one – for a while, at least.