Brain Training – Toddler Style.

After more than two years, am I pushing it to still be blaming “baby brain”?

I wonder if there is such a thing as “toddler brain”? I guess there must be because I’m certain I have it (I’m sure it can’t possibly be an age thing).

The other day I discovered half a packet of Pom Bears (crisps) in the fridge  – and, as I was the only person in the house who could reach the fridge, I have to assume I put them there.

Recently we walked the entire length of a floor in the multi-storey car park only for me to realise that we were parked on G not E.

Then there are the missing words. People, places, things. They flutter in and out of my brain like pretty butterflies, already gone when you point your camera to try and capture them.

And don’t mention my glasses. Every time we attempt to leave the flat it becomes a treasure hunt to find them (thank goodness we don’t have that many rooms). One time, after a good 10 minute search, it turned out I was already wearing them (I just thought my eyesight was improving).

I’m pretty sure I wasn’t this bad pre-Freya – not that I can remember, obviously.

Possibly fed-up with the daily glasses hunt, she has decided to take matters into her own hands by devising what I can only think of as some sort of toddler brain training game.

It involves all the plastic crap random toys my mum brings with her.

“What’s this one called?” She asks.

We had enough trouble naming her, let alone a half a dozen random dolls – many which are clearly from programmes we have yet to watch (or were last on tv in the 70s) – so most of the time I just say the first name that pops into my head.

Butter, Curtain and Tinybug are legitimate names in this day and age, right? I’m sure we’ll be seeing them in the Top 10 list for 2016 later this year.

It worked fine for a while.

The trouble is, now she expects me to remember them.

“What’s this one called?”

“Fred.” I say randomly.

“No! John.” As my dad and my brother are both called John (Jon) you would really think I would remember this one.

“What’s this one called?”

“Er, Sally?”

“No, Amelia!”

She gives me such a sad look; it’s like failing a test and disappointing your favourite teacher at school.

I’ve tried turning it around: “What is that one called, Freya?”

But she’s too clever for me: “No, you say.”

Now I find myself glancing at them at different points in the day, usually discarded in the middle of the floor, occasionally muttering “Jake, Amelia, Sarah, John, Tuesday” to myself just to make sure I get them right next time and avoid sad face.

We are thinking of turning it into some sort of app because we have scientific proof that it actually seems to be working – well I haven’t put any more crisps in the fridge this week…yet.