And, no, I don’t mean that my brain is corpulent and busting at the seams with intelligence and knowledge. I mean obese in that my brain has been sitting on its big fat medulla oblongata, eating crime novel and Chick-lit bon-bons, drinking heavy amounts ofUSA original programming, and stuffing itself shamelessly with disgusting fistfuls of Facebook. All the while, my big ole lazy brain has been shouting the excuse, “But I’ve got a little baby!”

Not to sound like a know-it-all, dear Brain, but how long have you had that little baby? Eight months? Hmm… So what will your excuse be in another eight months? “But I’ve got a…slightly older little baby?”

The fact is, I’m always going to have an excuse to let my brain atrophy. Eventually, it’s going to get to the point where I’m not going to be able to say “college degree” let alone remember that I have one. So, it’s diet time, people. The thing about diets is that the only person who can make it work is you…(Unless it’s a diet, like, the Cabbage Juice diet…in that case I don’t think it’s your fault.) So as much as I would like to hire Billy Blanks to come Tae Bo my head, I’m going to have to muster up some willpower and figure out a way to get my brain back into bikini shape.

Now I know there are a few of my friends who are thinking, “So…a blog? That’s the way to exercise your brain? Really. Really!?”

I promise you, my friends are not crappy and nonsupporting. They are just remembering the times in college when we would sit in front of the computer and laugh our asses off at other people’s blogs. I’m talking laugh so hard your face hurts and you peed in your pants a little…so they’re justified in their incredulity. In my defense, however, these were “I’m drowning in a pool of my own heartbroken tears because Bobby won’t even look at me in Psych 101 and I know we haven’t ever met but I think that we’re connected spiritually because we both wore shirts today that had pickles on them” type blogs. You can’t blame me for that, right? Right?

So here’s the plan: When Charlie takes his nap, instead of staring blankly at Facebook or getting entirely too attached to TV characters, (No, Lauren. Joey and Rachel are not your friends, and neither Carrie nor Samantha cares that you’re drinking plain cranberry juice out of a wine glass, pretending you’re drinking cosmos over lunch. Sorry.) I will be taking my thoughts and forcing myself to articulate them onto paper…or laptop screen.

You may be thinking, “Oh, great. A mommy blog. We’ll get to hear about baby poop and the stupid Family Circus cartoon that made her cry this morning.”

Trust me, I understand your concerns. I know you don’t want to hear about poop and diaper rash. Yeah, I’m a mom. Definitely. I’m also a wife, writer, friend, and Karaoke dynamo. I’m a whole lot of things. The mom stuff is simply a layer. Now, having mentioned that, I do have to say that if baby poop ends up on the ceiling, my face, or in anyone’s mouth, I’m sorry, but you’re going to hear about it. I can’t be expected to be left alone with that.