So I got this comment on my Gaba Logs post (also HERE). It was the the sort of spam that makes you question whether or not it’s spam. The sort where your instinct says “spam folder” but the comment is actually a complete, intelligible sentence that has a point related to your post, however remotely. This one said, “Whenever I feel anxious, I always take two 750mg GABA supplement to reduce my anxiety.” It finally clicked that GABA is an acronym. There’s a reason why every time I text the word in lower caps my spell checker corrects it to all-caps “GABA”.
GABA is a chemical that is made in the brain.
GABA is taken by mouth for relieving anxiety, improving mood, reducing symptoms of premenstrual syndrome (PMS), and treating attention deficit-hyperactivity disorder (ADHD). It is also used for promoting lean muscle growth, burning fat, stabilizing blood pressure, and relieving pain.
GABA is used under the tongue for increasing the sense of well-being, relieving injuries, improving exercise tolerance, decreasing body fat, and increasing lean body weight.
Am I the only one here who sees the crazy, almost mystical, admittedly kooky connection between GABA the chemical that is made in the brain and Gaba the two-year-old creature who is my son? Yes, yes, I know. I’m his mother, and I’m built to make direct connections between my children and just about whatever I darn well please. But if you’ve ever met Gabriel Keats—even if you’ve read anything about him on this blog—I can’t help but think you can at least see where I’m coming from.
As with all miracle cures, there are hazards associated with the remedy. GABA is also the boy-force who, only two steps behind me on the stairs, reaches back to pull the fire alarm. IN THE MIDDLE OF CHURCH. Smack in the midst of the most reverent prayers leading up to the Eucharist. (He ran to me and practically jumped into my arms. If a person could will himself to be absorbed and be made invisible, he would have done it then.)
Or consider this: I inform the boy made in my belly he must eat two more bites of pizza to have a piece of candy for dessert (let’s forgo the obvious lack of nutrients in this meal). I leave the room. I return not a minute later and both pieces are gone. “Did you eat that?” Big grin. “Did you feed your pizza to the dogs or did you eat it?” “Feed dogs!” So I think, at least the kid told me the truth, and I give him a piece of halloween candy. He finishes it. I wipe the boy down. He stands up. Two pieces of pizza fall out of his pants. He laughs and eats them.
Then there’s the time I find him in the drier with his lovey: “So warm!” Or the time he climbs into the washing machine to take a poop. John found him walking in a tiny circle. Later he’s playing garbage truck with his brother: “O no! Gaba fall in dumpster!” There’s Gaba with the scissors—and I quote: “I cut out the entire Iron Giant. Iron Giant says ‘OW!'”
Gamma-Amniobutyric Acid anyone?