I'm never afraid to admit when something has reduced me to tears. I really don't see crying as an act of weakness, and sometimes it can help you get what you want as frankly, it just plain scares the shit out of some people. They want to make you stop! It's ingrained. Though I would refrain from crying at work because really, no one takes you seriously after that. Have a quiet cry in a bathroom if you think you need to, but refrain from sobbing all over your keyboard.
It makes everyone feel uncomfortable for you and then they will always look at you as the person who cried.
"Oh right, you were the person who cried because you can't handle constructive criticism. Awkward."
Now that said, I am not normally much a crier. Of course I had moments when Dan and I were moving here when I would have a pathetic pity sob if it felt like too much, and the same goes for how sometimes I've had a weep fest after getting here because I do find myself homesick at times and really missing family and friends.
But would I generally characterize myself as a crier?
I would not.
I never cry in movies, I don't get emotional about other people's tragic stories, and I'm rarely swayed by those sad advertisments on television where the old man reads the Hallmark card from his long lost relation and realizes he's really not alone.
I think what this means is I'm a cold-hearted so-and-so and you probably want to stay away from me. I remember leaving the theatre after watching Marley & Me and everyone around me was blowing their noses into soggy hankies and wiping their dripping eyes on their jacket sleeves. I felt like a total ass for being totally dry-eyed. But people, THE END WAS OBVIOUS. The entire movie, whenever the puppy did something cute, I would think, "Yeah, but it really is only going to end in one way. DEATH." Whenever you see a movie about animals, they usually always die in the end. Just be prepared for it because seriously, it's almost a cinematic rule that the animal doesn't get to live.
So though I obviously do cry, I just don't do it that often.
Or at least, I never used to. But now there's this little girl or guy taking up residence in my uterus and this little being has caused me to become an emotional wrecking ball.
I cry all. the. time.
And I hate it! I hate it! Because there is the non-pregnant part of my brain that is yelling at me to keep my shit together, but I just can't stop.
The first time I realized something was up was when watching Sophie's Choice. This was prior to me knowing I was pregnant, and I spent the entire movie wondering why everyone raved about it so much. But then...Sophie made her choice. And oh my goodness but I bawled! I just started sobbing and Dan asked incredulously, "Are you crying? Over a movie? You never cry!"
That was the beginning of the end of being able to keep my emotional cool.
About a week later Dan and I were reading and I looked over at him and just had this complete and overwhelming, almost crushing, realization of how much I loved him. Obviously I knew this before! Be serious! But this feeling just crashed in to me and I started sobbing again. And he looked at me, almost terrified, and wondered what I was reading.
"Nothing! I'm not reading anything. I just...I just...ah, I love you so much, you know? YOU KNOW."
And then he was really afraid because people, that was very out of character for me.
And four days later I peed on the stick and it all became clear but it also became a lot weirder, too.
About a month ago I was applying mascara when I stopped and looked at my hand in the mirror and was convinced it was swollen to twice its normal size. I was convinced that maybe the baby just sort of migrated to my hand and decided to hang out and grow there. For some reason, I thought my regular sized hand looked enormous.
So of course, I burst into streaky mascara tears.
By this point Dan had read the books and he was ready for me.
"My hand looks SO FAT," I cried. "And it's just my right hand! My left hand is normal. What's wrong with me? I'm turning into a science experiment!"
"Your hand is normal! It's totally fine! It's not huge. Your fingers might swell as things progress, but right now it looks totally normal."
"NO IT DOESN'T. YOU'RE JUST SAYING THAT TO MAKE ME FEEL BETTER. I'M A MESS."
Well, he really couldn't argue with that. I am an emotional mess.
Last Sunday Hidalgo was on television and so we sat down to watch it because I'm a sucker for (a) horses, and (b) Viggo Mortinson. I've seen the movie before so I know that this one is in fact a rare exception to my 'the animal always dies' rule and I was prepared to not cry. But then I did. Hard. Because at the end Viggo's character does the most selfless thing possible which is letting a wild thing you love, go free.
I couldn't handle it and spent twenty minutes crying over how amazing the relationship between people and animals can be, and why can't we all be so selfless? Does this mean I need to let Cosmo go free? Am I a bad person for keeping him when he's so restless? I am a bad person, aren't I?
It didn't help that Cosmo sat at the door yowling the entire time I emotionally wrestled with this question.
I know that there are a lot of women out there who take offence to pregnant women being stereotyped as emotionally irrational. But you know what, I'm learning that for me I really am not exceptionally rational at the moment. Are all pregnant women like this? NO. Of course not. Am I like this? YES. Case in point, Dan and I went for a walk the other night and I remembered a fight we had EIGHT YEARS AGO. He didn't even remember the fight, but I remembered it in exact detail and I felt just as enraged that night as I had eight years ago and then I just surfed that wave of emotions all the way to tear-town.
Do I realize this is RIDICULOUS behaviour? I do, I do. I really, really am not that unpleasant to be around. But in those seconds I was incapable of being rational and thinking, "Be cool woman. This fight happened eight years ago and you dealt with it then, have since gotten married, and now you're having a baby. Chill out."
This morning it was confirmed again that a friend is moving away in about nine months, but remember I did already know she was leaving. I came home, was working away, and then it suddenly dawned on me leaving means leaving and I cried. Of course I did.
So can someone please reassure me this crying jag doesn't last the whole nine months?
Until then I'll just be sitting in the corner, crying...about something.
Actually, I'll probably be crying about my bedding because I hate it at the moment, have cried about how much I hate it, and irrationally feel that I'm completely powerless to solve the problem. Who wants to come over?! I'M A DELIGHT.