Giving birth stretches the imagination.

People say that when you give birth, you simultaneously lose your brain cells. I was buying it. Since 2003, the year of Doobie #1, I've become dumber by the day and amazingly inarticulate. Simple conversations end up with me gesticulating like a deaf signer because I can't think of the word "plate" and leave Mike scratching his head, perplexed by the moron his wife has become.

Yes. I've gotten stupid. Seriously stupid. Mike is now "with stupid." He's getting one of those t-shirts for Xmas -- if I can figure out how to order one. I'm not sure I could even find my way out of a box right now.

To stimulate the cells, I tried Sudoku. Too hard. I tried the People crossword, Too soft. I started reading Rolling Stone. Just right, but then I'd snooze. Back in the day, I could solve a New York Times crossword any day of the week during my lunch hour. (Okay, but never on Sunday.) I could crack cryptoquotes. But, that was when I had grey matter. In my heyday, I was pretty adept at math, too, except for Algebra. Boy is high school going to suck for all of us. Let's hope Madan's desire to pump gas keeps up so he can land a job in New Jersey -- home of full serve.

Yesterday, I got around to thinking. (Or, what equates to thinking.) The kids were asleep. Mike was in Detroit. The house was "empty." My head started filling up. Madan openly wept during dinner because he wanted our Halloween spiderweb lights hung over a window and not over some lame little bush. Despite my detailed explanation about how there was nowhere to nail or tape the strand to hold it in place, he kept insisting it could be done. He was incessant, practically obsessive compulsive about it. To shut him up, I threatened to take away his bedroom and make him sleep in a tent with the damn lights wrapped around him. Tight.

He went to bed pissed. I forgot about the lights until a light bulb went on in my head. String. I could tie the friggin' lights to the fixtures inside the window and MacGyver it to make it all work. Suddenly, "hallelujah" started playing. Angels swooped down and showered me with rose petals. I had a fucking epiphany.

I used my brain to solve a problem! I was thinking, really thinking! To my Honors Algebra teacher who gave me straight Ds, "Kiss my ass." Since birthing the Doobies, I may not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but no matter. I was still wringing life out of my brain, just differently and perhaps, more creatively. I realized that I'm still incredibly marketable, but in a much broader way. When the economy picks up, the world will become my oyster. Here are answers I prepared in light of all the interviews I am going to have:

So, Yo Mama, why are you qualified to be in Sales? Well, when there's only one apple juice box and one grape juice box left, I have to convince both kids they're getting the best deal. But, that would be easy. So, instead of selling them on the benefits of each, I convince them that the half-empty bottle of Gatorade that's been sitting in the fridge for 3 months is better. Everyone feels like a winner!

Why do you feel you could effectively negotiate the safe release of hostages? OMG. Are you f'ing kidding me? When two kids want to play with the same stretchy rubber monster, one of them always grabs the toy and runs away with it. For the next 20 minutes, I calmly broker a deal. Sometimes it's shared custody. Other times, we arrange a drop off for ransom. On rare occasions, I've had to tackle a child to safely secure the hostage. However, in my 6 years of motherhood, shots have never been fired and I have never lost one stretchy rubberbandy toy due to tug-of-war snappage.

You have no acting experience. Why did you apply for a lead role on CSI? When I'm doing the wash and need to figure out what the hell that red stain is on Madan's shirt, I don't have access to computers or anything as fancy-pants as what's on the show. Instead, I swipe the stain with my finger and lick it. I can tell what anything is by taste. It's not the most sanitary way, but it's effective when you don't have time to send samples off to the lab. Plus, I'm a great actor. You should hear how I lie to my kids about how babies are made, what dying means and why there's no ice cream left in the freezer.

Why the hell do you keep calling NASCAR? Just like the NBA, NFL, NHL and ESPN Strong Man Competition, we've never had a successful Indian athlete, let alone a successful female, Indian athlete. Four days a week, I deftly negotiate the twists and turns of Chagrin, avoiding garbage trucks, landscapers, joggers and old people who have escaped Hamlet Hills nursing home. I consistently place top three for Moms who get their kids to school on time. My current SUV has no damage and is ready for sponsorship. I've also been working with Isaac Mizrahi on a new racing jumpsuit design: It's Cat Woman spandex meets the road. It's purrrrrrrrrrrrrrfect, dahling.

Just because you watched the Sopranos doesn't mean you'd make a good mafioso. What brute skills do you really have? I may not be a big earner, but I'm no empty suit. When the Doobies stop listening, I serve up knuckle sandwiches. I bury their artwork in the bottom of our trash leaving them with a mystery far deeper than Jimmy Hoffa. I curse. I make a mean spaghetti and gravy and have no problem going to strip clubs. You wanna piece of me? Fuck you.

Look out world, Yo Mama's a-comin'. I'm thrilled I didn't lose all my brain cells. Giving birth actually stretched my imagination.