I sometimes wonder who I've become and hardly recognize myself when I stop to take a good look. I'm not talking about the lines on my forehead or the bags under my eyes that have parked themselves in recent years. Mentally, emotionally, I'm not the same person I once was.

If any of you belong to Baby Center, you may have seen the article titled “How Motherhood Makes You Smarter”. I saw the subject field come across an email and burst out laughing. Are they kidding? I don't know about any of you, but my brain (once challenged by analyzing the detailed financial statements of businesses hoping to borrow money from the bank for which I worked) is mush.

I went to dinner with some friends not too long ago. When the check arrived, I offered to do the math. I tossed and turned all night. I had cheated one of the other women out of $7. How? When did I lose the ability to do simple math? It's not just math skills I've lost. I'm also less worldly. Now as a mother, watching the evening news is disturbing - seeing, lain in front of you, the very evil from which you want to protect your family. So, I usually choose not to watch. Ignorance is bliss. I want to smile for my kids. I confess to recently picking up a suduko book, in hopes of salvaging any remaining brain power.

The people at Baby Center should know that motherhood has not made me smarter, but has, in fact, left me far less intelligent than I once thought possible. I have come to realize, through my daily life as well as the fragmented conversations of the moms around me, that motherhood brings with it, a good case of adult ADD.

I can hardly finish a thought anymore, much less a sentence. When the kids are otherwise occupied and I have a chance to be productive, I go in too many directions. I may start dusting a room and remember that I should start the dishwasher. Leave to start the dishwasher and notice the calendar, which has a big red circle on it so that I don't forget to send out the mortgage payment. I, of course, take the time to put that check in the mail when the phone rings. The next day, when I find my swiffer sitting on the top of the TV cabinet, I remember that I never did finish the original chore I had set out to do.

I've changed in another way too. I am suddenly much more aware of the sexual innuendos, violence, and language in pop culture. I find myself enjoying the TBS version of Sex & the City over my once favorite HBO version. I tried to watch the new series Dirt and thought it mildly pornographic and offensive. I can't listen to the new Justin Timberlake CD until the kids have fallen asleep in the car. I find myself almost preferring Laurie Berkner. I've admittedly left her music on in the car after dropping my daughter at school.

So, there you have it ”“ the answer to the question of who I've become. I am now an idiotic, scatter-brained prude. I fear that I will begin to resent my children for changing me in these ways, but I am reassured by the fact that I do not have the intellectual capacity to do so. My hope for my future is that my brain power will return as my focus shifts from my children back to me and that I will have no reason to resent them.

For now, I'll continue to struggle with splitting the check in a restaurant and listening to children's music. But I'll also continue to hear a crying baby within a mile radius with super-strength hearing that comes only with motherhood, hold two or three conversations (one with each kid and husband) at once, carry what the “nit” (non-infant-toting person) would deem possible in no less than 8 arms in only two, and love all of it more than I ever imagined I could.