PREGNANCY BRAIN. MEMORY-BANK ROBBER. “Empty out your brain! NOW, LADY!!! Put all your memories in the bag so I can speed away from the scene in my gray-matter getaway car!” (Screeching of squishy brain-tires. Enter parietal-lobe police, stage left.)

A typical scene. An atypical woman. My wife, in fact. Poor lamb.

On one level, I’m all for this “pregnancy brain” thing. (If you do not know what pregnancy brain is, read this article.) Because when Becki loses the remote controls as a pregnant woman, I can refrain from immediately launching into a lecture about “the remote boat” where we are supposed to keep our remotes. “Pregnancy brain” means Becki cannot help but accidentally relocate our remote controls to obscure locations like the dark heart of Africa.

“Oh yeah, that’s where I left them,” she’ll say. “The dark heart of Africa.” R-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-G-H-T.

I first noticed the appearance of pregnancy brain during Becki’s first trimester. She began going to bed around 7:00 p.m. Sometimes even earlier. We would be watching a rerun of an episode of the The Office, and at 6:45 her eyes would be closed.

“Do you want me to turn this off, Hon?” I would ask, incredulous.

“No, I am listening to it,” she would reply. Which meant that in about five minutes, I would be listening to the steady, rhythmic breathing of Becki sleeping. (But not snoring. I am the one who snores. I sound like a foghorn on a freighter.)

At times like this, I would encourage her to go to bed. Which she would. But Becki likes company. A lot.

“Um, can you maybe lay here with me and talk to me before I fall asleep, Chaddy?” she would say.

“Uh … yeah. S-u-u-u-u-u-ure,” I would say.

“Can we play ‘Twenty Questions?’”

“What? I thought you were going to sleep?”

“I am. It will help me sleep.”

Yes, honey. It will help you go to sleep if we stimulate your brain. Why not do some calisthenics?

“Okay. Let’s play.”

So she would think of a movie, and I would have to guess it. But it was hardly “Twenty Questions,” as I would ask a question like, “Is it a cartoon?” And she would say, “Yes, and – hee hee – I used to watch it with Katie all the time because of the part where the main character pulls the sword out of the stone.”

To which I would reply, “Uh, okay. Wow. I think I know what it is already. We’ve eliminated so many movies with that one statement – Star Wars, The English Patient, Sophie’s Choice – all gone.” But that’s just how Becki plays “Twenty Questions.” It’s more like “Two Questions.”

“I’m thinking of a movie.”

“Is it a cartoon?”

“Yes. It is. There’s a mermaid in it, and she’s little, and there’s a singing crab. Hee hee hee!”

“Is it The Little Mermaid?”

“Wow!!! How did you know?”

PREGNANCY BRAIN. REALITY. FACT.

But the best part came when I would make Becki guess the movie. Because I would actually play “Twenty Questions” the right way, and she would get really angry with me.

“Is it a cartoon?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“Well, does it have any singing candlesticks in it or Mrs. Potts, or maybe there’s a magic lamp and a flying carpet, or maybe Robin Williams does the voice of the genie?”‘

“One question, please.”

“What do you mean?”

At one point I had The Lion King in mind, which every woman Becki’s age seems to go all moon-eyed over for whatever reason. I hate that movie. I would rather snort lines of used cat litter through a straw off of a mirror than see that movie.

“It’s a cartoon, and Disney made it, so…”

“Yes? Do you have a question, honey?”

“Yes. I do. Is it …”

“Yes?”

“I don’t know what it is. I’m confused.”

“Um, try guessing some movies, Hon.”

“Well, tell me something about the movie. Play the game like I do.”

“That’s not ‘Twenty Questions.’”

“I don’t care. Tell me something about the movie.”

“But you’ll guess what it is then.”

“Yeah!”

“Okay, it has a … it has a lion in it. There you go. Thank you, Captain Obvious. Game over.”

“A lion?”

“Yes, a lion.”

“Oh boy. I can’t think of any Disney cartoons with lions in them. Can you give me a clue?”

PREGNANCY BRAIN. The woman was probably wearing Lion King pajamas, but it was dark, so she couldn’t see them.

“Okay, a clue … Hmm. Who wears a crown, Honey?”

“Oh!!! Oh!!! The Lion Crown! It’s The Lion Crown!”

“No. No, that’s not it.”

“What?!”

“Yes, honey, DOLT WHIZKNEE has a film out called The Lion Crown.”

“Oh boy. That’s not it? For real? … What is it then?”

PREGNANCY BRAIN. MEMORY-BANK ROBBER. THIEF OF THOUGHTS. RANSACKER OF RECALL.

“It’s The Lion King, honey -”

“OH!!! Yeah, I remember that movie!”

ME TOO, HONEY. Unfortunately, I remember that movie, too.

Later, when she was talking about the TV show Alvin in the Chipmunks, she referred to it as “The Three Little Chipmunks.”

Things have not been the same ever since. I think Pregnancy Brain made off with all of her memories of cartoons and movies in general. I am waiting for to say, “What’s that cartoon you and Danny Gibson always quote? Run and Stampy? Ron and Stumpy?”

If only the felonious fetus in Becki’s belly would’ve pressed the teller emergency button under the counter in the bank of Becki’s brain.

IF ONLY.