Pretty Crier

There are 2 modes of crying. There's the tears that allow you to speak through them. You dab at your eyes in a dainty way all the while holding a conversation. It's a pretty cry. Then there's the crying that is so mournful no on can understand a word you're saying. It's not pretty. It includes gasps and hick-ups and broken apologies for the melt down.

I'm not a pretty crier. Guttural sounds escape me while tears course down my cheeks. I swat away the tears from my face while I try to apologize to whoever is with me. My face turns red and it grows increasingly wet as my nose joins in on the outburst.

I recall a specific incident when, as a new mom, I felt overwhelmed by the minute tasks of motherhood. I was trying to make my way through a mega grocery store with a baby who was hungry and wet. I was new to being a mommy and getting out of the house. Getting in the doors of my destination, with a baby, seemed more daunting then cimbing Mt. Everest. Just as my newborn's wails reached a new pitch, I looked down to see that my shirt was soaking (thing breastfeeding) and my baby's car seat carrier had a new yellowish-brown goo in it (think poop).

Some poor store employee caught my eye and asked if I needed help. Oh, the poor soul. I unleashed the sobs that had been building in me for the last hour...day...week. My victim just stood there with a blank look (stricken even) on his face as I sputtered about just getting out of the house, feeding schedules, blow-outs intermixed with apologies. At some point, I must have just walked away, loaded the carrier into the car, and headed home. I don't remember that part very well.

Going to the grocery store is a breeze these days in comparison. I still have outbursts. Certainly, I have not achieved the status of a pretty crier. That's okay. Sometimes, it's just good to let it out!