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I think I was abducted by aliens earlier this year.

It’s the only explanation I can come up with for the big chunk of Allie’s little baby days that are missing in my mind.

The time in between colic and crawling is gone. I don’t remember it. It’s as if I wasn’t even here, wiped clean from my conscious mind.

The colic, I remember. The constant screaming, hour after hour, and nothing seemed to make it better and we just got used to her screaming like it was the ticking of the clock because it was the only thing we could do.

The raw screaming rings in my ears as if it happened yesterday. My cheeks feel my own hot tears of frustration and anger and sadness even now. But, really, it ended around 12 weeks.

Allie is eight months old now. She started crawling two weeks ago, and she can’t be more than a minute away from her first wobbly steps.

There are five months in between these two time periods, but I’ve got nothing.

I didn’t spend all that much time with the girls when I was in partial. Caring for my children was just. too. hard. then. I wasn’t able.

So that’s two months explained away, but it still leaves three months of empty space during which I know I took care of this baby.


I’ve got nothing. Did we play? Did we have fun together? Was she happy?

I couldn’t tell you.

I looked back at the photos of our life from those days. I remember some of the things I did with Grace. We spent time with some friends here and there; I remember those. There are only a couple of photos of Allie, and I couldn’t tell you anything about them. Nothing, nada.

Over time, I have forgotten the early days of Grace’s life, but they happened four years ago. I think it’s reasonable to have forgotten the days and weeks of our life four years ago.

But the days and weeks of our life three months ago? Shouldn’t I be able to remember that?

I think I should.

I’m blaming my amnesia on postpartum something-or-another. I think the bipolar disorder was brewing for a long time before I became unable to function as a mother and wife and human being.

If not that, then what?

I forgot because I was disappointed with the turns of my life? I didn’t want this new life, this new person? That is a possibility that I just cannot face.

So let’s go with the bipolar disorder or the postpartum something. That has to be it.


© 2011 – 2018, Tara Ziegmont. All rights reserved.

1 thought on “Forgotten”

  1. Oh, honey. I have the same blanks in my memory, and I was here the whole time! Memory is weird, and when we’re in periods of adjustment or difficulty, I think our brains devote so much energy to just getting through it and learning the ropes that specific situational memories are put on the back burner for a while. It’s why we don’t form a lot of memories as small children, too. (I guess. I’m no brain expert. It’s my theory.) I remember very little about the early days of all my kids. It makes me sad, but I’m pretty sure it’s normal. Unless I’m not normal, which, of course, is always a possibility.

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