I’ve been weepy all week long. It was enough to make me do the motherly version of the walk of shame: elbowing my way through the crowded, trinket-filled Dollar Tree with two dollars, two prowling toddlers and two pregnancy tests. I had my brilliant comeback all planned out, in case any opinionated cashier chose to weigh in on whether or not I needed another child.
For you inquiring minds out there, they were negative.
So, I’m just more in touch with my emotions, apparently. Maybe feeling safe enough and relaxed enough to let my sappy hair down. I don’t mind. I appreciate the arrival of tears, actually, because for a while it’s been tough for me to cry. Births and sweet moments with my babies usually get the squeezed out tear or two, but now I seem to have no shortage. Not opposed to tears, I’m usually the first to encourage friends to cry if they need to. I just have I tough time making myself do it.
I’ve even stood in the shower or the rain before, grimacing, hoping it might have a similar effect on my body and soul. It does not.
Anyway, I’m crying now.
Note to self: buy Kleenex. Maybe I’ll make myself a cute little pocket tissue cozy.
This afternoon was a beast. Nooms has 6 teeth coming in at once, and Essie is in desperate need of a nap. Nate hasn’t eaten in, oh, two days, so I figured it was a good idea to do the friendly thing and do the cooking tonight. The girls were yowling at the gate, quite miffed that I was doing dinner prep without their assistance. Poor sweeties. My nerves just couldn’t take it tonight.