That Look of An Injured, Wild Animal Captured By the SPCA

We have already discussed how all these hormones are affecting my emotional state, especially when it comes to the presence or absence of cold cereal in the house. Well, let's just say it's not getting any better. Luckily, it's generally Eric who bears the brunt of this most awkward side effect. I can't seem to have a normal 3 minute conversation with the man before erupting into pathetic tears. Not too long ago, he had come home from work and gotten changed. When he came back out to the living room I told him the dog needed to be taken out. In a clearly joking manner he said, "Oh man, you couldn't have told me that BEFORE I took off my boots?" Well, I immediately turned into Niagara Falls, bawling my eyes out as if my dog had died. Of course Eric was freaked out but told me it was fine. He's intelligent like that. Maybe you're wondering why a little joke would upset me so. Well, I wonder the same thing, my friend, every day of my life. I have NO idea. Seriously. I don't know. In my brain I thought it was funny but it didn't seem to matter. After about a half hour I was still crying but by this point I was just crying cause I was so freaked out by my own crying. For those of you who know me, you know I don't do "feelings". Like at all. So crying is like way out of the question. Unless I am watching The Bridges of Madison County or some other incredibly pathetic movie, of course. Even with my first graders I will not speak to them if they are crying. In a very loving way I tell them that they need to go to the bathroom, privately wash their face and stop bawling and then we can have an adult conversation. So, considering I won't let children cry, my own adult crying is constantly creeping me out.

This was bad when it was a once-in-a-while, random occurrence. Well, it's not anymore. Poor Eric still gets all of it too. Over the last few days in the hospital (yes, I solemnly swear to update this blog all the way to the current hospital stay) Eric can't walk in the door without a flood of creepy tears. I should be in a horror movie. The poor man walks in and I'm glad to see him so what do I do? Well, start bawling of course. He comes in and we start talking about our days and what do I do? Start crying, obviously. He eventually has to leave and of course I will miss him so what is the most reasonable and effective course of action? Well, clearly to bawl about it. What were you really expecting me to say? Poor Eric, good grief, he tries so hard to tell me that it's fine. no big deal, he likes it. But he has that same look in his eye as the injured, wild animals captured by the SPCA. I know about this look because I watch a requisite 6 or so hours of Animal Cops every day. The really disturbing thing is that I am pretty sure I have that same look in my eye.