I don’t have the world’s greatest memory. When I hear people talk about someone who has a photographic memory, I become very envious. It’s the little things that always gets me: I can never remember how old my parents are (both are in there 60s but I can’t give you more than that), I always forget if it’s lime or lemon that Emmett uses in the French Horn cocktail he makes me (even though I’ve watched him make it a bazillion times), and there’s always a thoughtful pause after writing the word “affect” or “effect” while my mind sorts out which one is the verb (for the record, it’s “affect”). I’ve never really been fazed by my fragile recall ability. Until now, that is. For some reason, there are some days where I actually forget that Lori is a FWK.

The first time this happened, I almost started laughing. I mean, how do you forget something like that? It’s not like I don’t talk to or see Lori a couple times a week. And when I do, there’s always Matteo noise in the background (either Matteo himself talking, fussing, or bashing a toy on something or it’s Lori’s husband, Sal, asking what he should do with Matteo or where something of Matteo’s is or reminding Lori that he’s a present parent by telling her he just did something for Matteo). And, it’s not like Matteo hasn’t been around for a while. His first birthday is next month. You’d think that after a year, I would have figured out that Lori was serious about this having a baby thing. Regardless, it appears I seem to block it out once-in-a-while.

So the first time this forgetting-about-Matteo thing happened was when we had dinner over at Lori’s parents’ house early in September. When Emmett and I pulled into the driveway behind Lori’s car and I saw the baby seat in the back, I turned to Emmett and said, “Oh shit, I forgot about Matteo.”

“What about Matteo?” he asked.

“I forgot about him,” I said with a giggle in the back of my throat.

“Were you supposed to do something for him?”

“No. I forgot he was going to be here,” I replied slightly exasperated that my husband wasn’t keeping up with me.

“Where else would he be?” my extraordinarily patient husband asked.

“I don’t know. I just forgot he was around.”

“‘Around’ as in ‘on this planet’?” Emmett cautiously tried to clarify.

“Now you’re catching up. Yes, ‘around’ as in ‘of existence.’ But now I remember that he does.” And with that I grabbed my delicious vegan chocolate cake and two bottles of wine and headed into the house, my husband trailing behind me shaking his head.

A few weeks later it happened again. After returning from my trip to Savannah, Lori and I had planned on going to a book signing party. When she called a few days beforehand to see if it would be okay to bring Matteo, I was taken back…not because I didn’t want Matteo to be there, but because when I pictured Lori at that moment, I pictured her as just Lori, as only Lori, and my mind was frantically searching to recall who the hell Matteo was and why she would want to bring him to the event. When, a millisecond later, I remembered exactly who Matteo was, I just shook my head and said to myself, “You’re a nut job, Barb.”

I’m sure if one were to psychoanalyze these situations, one would come to the logical conclusion that somewhere deep inside me, I’m having issues with Lori having a baby. But there is nothing logical about me, as many of you know. I have issues alright, but I think forgetting about Matteo has more to do with the amount of adult beverages consumed in my lifespan than with some sort of repressed anger or resentment. But then again, maybe not. Even so, I’m sane enough to know that despite not remembering what goes into the French Horn Emmett makes me, I still enjoy it. And the same holds true with Lori.