"What's that condition called where you can't remember anything?" I asked my sister-in-law today. Then, just as suddenly as I'd forgotten, I remembered: "Amnesia!"

"Only if you want the scientific name," she replied. "For those of us in the family way, it's really called 'Baby Brain.'"

It's true. Pregnant women are renowned for losing their memory. In a 1998 study published in the American Journal of Obstetrics and Gynecology pregnant women in the third trimester showed a significant decline in memory. No such decline was noted for non-pregnant women.

Of course, I can remember silly things, like "i" before "e" except in Budweiser. But that kind of stuff is stored in my long-term memory chips. It's the short-term memory that's suffering. I forget stuff like where I put my keys, what my middle name is, and where I last left my 13-year-old Boy Wonderful.

Now, Ingrid Bergman is famous for saying, "Happiness is good health and a bad memory," but why can't I have good health and a good memory? And if a clear conscience is a sign of a bad memory, what does that mean for pregnancy? That the conception process was a guilt-free affair?

Psychologists classify memory into "The Four Rs." (Note, these are different from the Four Rs made famous by Ben Kenobi in "Star Wars" when he said: "May the four Rs be with you.") —

recollection (remembering through the use of hints or clues),

recall (unaided remembrance of past events),

recognition (correct identification of previously encountered information), and

relearning (the ability to assimilate new information based upon previously learned information).

To this I'd like to add ... something. I can't remember what it was, though. It's like my train of thought has lost its caboose!

Before I forget, let's move on to the reason for this week's column: When your memory is shot (pregnant or not), it's time to call on the Greek goddess Mnemosyne (nem-oh-zeen), whose name means "memory." She bore nine daughters with Zeus, who became the nine Muses of the creative arts:

Calliope — epic poetry and rhetoric (and Australian bush poets);

Thalia — comedy and idyllic poetry (and rumored to be the real mother of Weird Al Yankovic);

Melpomene - tragedy (and other such formula-driven movies born in Hollywood);

Clio - history (and herstory, of course);

Euterpe — lyric poetry (and and rap, although she abandoned the stutter-rappers);

Terpsichore — music and dancing (and off-key singing);

Erato — erotic poetry (and the secret sexy bits in the Bible);

Urania — astronomy (and proctology);

Polyhymnia — sacred hymns and harmony (and their opposite art form, karaoke).

Mnemosyne's gift to modern women is all of the Four Rs combined — she is the mother of Remembrance. With her energy we can recollect our journey as women through hers/history, we can recall the wonderful moments in our lives, we can recognize the beautiful beings we were born to be, and we can relearn how we present ourselves to the world.

As the Greeks often worshiped her in the form of flowing water (representing flowing ideas and energy), I'll be heading off shortly to sit and "muse" by the Margaret River here in the southwest of Western Australia. Note to self: Don't forget to put film in your photographic memory.

It is quite fitting that the township named after the river is a haven for artisans and creative souls. Perhaps I'll gather up eight creative friends to make a group of nine in Mnemosyne's honor. We can spend our day playing, singing, reciting poetry, dancing on stage and remembering where we put our keys. We'll also pause at 11a.m. on Nov. 11 — Remembrance Day here in Australia — to remember those who have died or suffered in wars and conflicts and all those who have served during the past 100 years. Now that's something worth remembering.

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Anita Revel is the creatrix of Goddess.com.au, a content-rich website aimed at helping you connect with your beautiful, sassy, intuitive, lovable, sacred and authentic self. You can read more of her columns here. © Copyright 2007 by Anita Revel.