On Crying

I’m pretty sure I’m not being dramatic when I say I’ve cried more these past two weeks than I have in, say, almost the entire year. I jokes you not. I’m like Old Faithful. Only people don’t want to crowd around to watch this train wreck.

Last night Brandon and I were waiting in line at the drive thru at Taco Bell (Fetus LUUUURVES crunchy tacos!) and I told him as much. I was like, “Last night while you were asleep, I wiggled my way into your arms and cried. You didn’t wake up. But that’s okay. Sigh.”

And he was like, “Well you always cry when I can’t see you or know you are or when I’m not even conscious! How am I supposed to know you’re bawling in the shower, or when putting on your shoes, or while watching Dora the Explorer with Cade?” (He is saying this teasingly by the way, not in any way trying to hurt my feelings or anything…)

But I can’t help it! I’m just getting all full of baby and hormones and fluids and fat and tears. There’s a lot of excess, here. …Husband then went on to say that usually when he sees me crying, it’s rare enough that he wants to do whatever he can to help me. But now he thinks me crying is so common it’s just part of the circle of life, and he hopes that particular circle ends soon. Or something. (I thought the circle of life had to do with the birds ‘n the bees or at the very least The Lion King?)

The Snuggie helped, though. :)

And when Big B or the Snuggie are not around to help, Bobbi’s around. The other day she lumbered on my lap and so graciously offered her back as a tissue. I grabbed her love rolls and hung on and buried my face in her fur and bawled. As soon as I was done she had two giant wet spots on her fur.
It totally made her purr. My pain made her purr. She’s so selfish. But I love her anyway, holy oh my moly, I love her anyway.