Tuesday, January 3, 2012

New Year. New clothes. New issues.

On New Year's Day, Mummy was in a rage because I'd changed her blanket. Someone, she asserted was playing 'damn jackass tricks' on her. I had removed her multicolored comforter (for laundering purposes, nothing more nefarious I assure you) and replaced it with a plain cream-colored blanket. She was angry. Very angry. Getting over that upset slowed the morning routine to the point that I thought I'd have to miss church. Fortunately, that didn't happen. We made it. A little late, but we made it.

We also recently bought Mummy some new pajamas in an effort to ensure that she was properly clad at night. These are not the first new clothes she's received recently, but the other items are for daytime wear. I wouldn't have imagined that new night clothes could be a problem.

Two nights ago, on the pyjamas' inaugural run, Mummy got up in the middle of the night, removed all her clothes and went to bed in something else: a good sweater and a pair of lounging pants. Last night I tried them again. Again, I put her in them, told her that they were her new pyjamas and hoped for the best. No success. This morning, I discovered that she had removed the clothing and redressed herself in a familiar sweater and her underwear. No pants, but plenty of confusion. Of course, she had no recollection of changing her clothes and so she was perplexed as to why she had on no pants.

An hour or so later, after finishing her breakfast, she went upstairs, rested a moment and then came back down, once again robed in confusion. Pulling at the pyjama bottoms, a quizzical expression on her face, she began to formulate a question. Interrupting, I said, "Those are your new pyjamas."
"Who bought them?", she asked.
"I did," I replied.
"Oh ho. Thanks."
But the look of confusion never faded. Clearly there was something else amiss but she was either unready or unable to communicate what that might be.

Several weeks ago, Mummy didn't recognize herself in a reflection. Now it's anger at changed bed linen and confusion at new clothes. What more can the disease possibly hold? Or perhaps I shouldn't wonder.

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