My mom used to joke when I spent lazy summers alone at home with her all day that by the end of three months we would just grunt and point, totally having lost the power of verbal communication. Neither of us was overly talkative and by being around only each other for so much time we didn't need to, downright couldn't, string together a coherent sentence.
I've been at home with my daughter for 4.25 years. She's only been talking for the past year. The only upside is how little awareness I have of my mush brain. Sadly, I got two glimpses already this week.
I've had two opportunities to participate in conversation with an adult human other than my husband and it's only Tuesday. The first was a play date with Julia's preschool friend. It was only the second time we'd interacted with the little girl, her two-year-old brother and Mom outside of preschool. We had a lot of the typical getting-to-know-you questions to ask each other. My side of the conversation should have had crickets chirping as I scanned my brain for words to explain what I did over the weekend (auto race at Mid Ohio) and modular homes (please think of an analogy other than trailer this time).
It was the same thing meeting a new potential mom friend at the swimming pool this afternoon.
My mind is pretty nimble still, at least when it comes to the day-to-day questions of a four-year-old. I have to explain plot points of every Disney movie and Barbie Fairytopia. I can figure out which episode of Special Agent Oso she's thinking about. I can try to figure out why Mickey Mouse Clubhouse characters are sometimes friends with Pete and sometimes he plays the villan. But, ask me what my husband does for a living and prepare to wait.
I suppose it will all come rushing back when I either rejoin the adult world or Julia turns 18. Until then I feel bad for these poor people who talk to me.