Maternal Cerebral Discombobulation.

I have got a lot of nerve. I wrote this about thirteen years ago, and it was published in my hometown paper. Its not very good, but I thought since I had something to put here, I'd put it here.

Maternal Cerebral Discombobulation
by Me.

The United Oppressed Mothers Of America recently completed their annual summit in Acapulco, where they uncovered an insideous illness that strikes young mothers. The illness has been named Maternal Cerebral Discombobulation.
The mothers began the summit, as usual, dressed in ratty bathrobes with their faces covered in Noxcema, chugging huge mugs of coffee. Their chatter led to the mental disorders many of them had in common.
"When I first got married, I could stand in the kitchen and name every single appliance, without pointing my finger and grimacing," remembered one, wistfully.
"I can remember the good ole' days, when I could go shopping at the mall--and when I came out, I knew exactly where I'd parked my car," sobbed another.
A bleary-eyed member of the group took a swig of coffee and mumbled, "I haven't slept for more than four hours at a stretch in two years."
Though scientists refuse to back the correlation, probably because they're all men, there is growing evidence that motherhood can be hazardous to your mental health.

Case 1. Agnes is the perfect wife and mother. She keeps a spartan home, teaches Sunday Scool, and chauffers her brood to tap dancing, tee ball practice, choir practice, Boy Scouts, Girl Scouts, and she is the head of the PTA's fund raising committee. Her friends report that Agnes has begun to act strangely. Every evening, after her children have been safely tucked away, she dons a Batgirl outfit, arms herself with a flashlight and scours the neighborhood streets in search of single socks.
"I know they're out here somewhere," she says. I buy TWO socks, I put TWO socks in the washer, and ONE comes out! There is something going on here and I'm going to get to the bottom of it! Its some evil conspiracy to drive women crazy!!" she sputters.

Case 2. Mary is a shell of her former self. She sits on her living room couch, staring at the floor, muttering, "I clean it up, they mess it up. I clean it up, they mess it up..." Mary is one of the millions of women, who was raised to believe a clean home is the moral responsibility of the woman. She happily assumed the obligation and did a good job, until she had children. Lately, Mary has been observed sitting on the floor of her foyer, amid alphabet blocks and tinker toys, writing frightening poetry on the walls in lipstick print.
"There is red magic marker on my pink couch's arm
Everything I own has been done some harm
My house and my furniture used to look so nice
Dear Lord, send a pox on Fisher Price."

Agnes and Mary are not isolated cases. This scourge rages in cities and has taken the countryside by storm.
The United Oppressed Mothers of America has issued this checklist of symptoms: Never being able to find your car keys, saying those awful things your parents said, that you swore you'd never say (ie "As long as you live under my roof, you'll do as I say."), walking into a room, standing there and saying aloud, "Why did I come in here? I know I came in here for something!, inability to call the names of your children without concentrating, talking back to soap operas (ie. "Harold! Don't marry her! She's only after your father's fortune! She never stopped loving Alfredo, the poor, but handsome houseboy! Don't do it, Harold!)
It is thought that close proximity to children can bring on the symptoms of Maternal Cerebral Discombobulation, as it has mostly been recorded in young mothers. As their children get older and start hanging out in malls, the symptoms decrease. Grandmothers have reported 'flashbacks' of the affliction, which always coincide with babysitting their grandchildren These flashback episodes usually subside hours after the little mites have been removed from the residence.
The good ladies of the United Oppressed Mothers of America offer the following treatments for those afflicted with the illness: A hot bubble bath with a Harold Robbins novel; unlimited access to a credit card; a radically different hairstyle; or a one-way ticket to their next summit in Acapulco, where our motto is One Day We Will Find A Way To Blame This On Our Husbands!
Remember our call letters: UOMA. (You owe MA!)