Cry Cry Cry

I’m a crier. There I’ve said it. I weep at the drop of a hat and at times it is spectacularly embarrassing. Last night between arriving home from work and going to bed I cried four times. Don’t get me wrong I’m not a sad person, just obviously an overemotional one.

I’ve always had a tendency to tears but pregnancy saw me hysterical a good part of the nine months. The man at the corner store was rude, I cried. The lady at the Post Office was nice, I cried. My husband looked at me, I cried.  Admittedly it eased after the births but I would go on to have a heightened sensitivity to springing the waterworks forever.

Last night the tears began when I tried to write a guest post for Saturday Morning Ogre Mum. She’s put a call out for people to write in with their childbirth and breastfeeding stories. As I wrote about discovering I had placenta previa, the emergency caesarian seven weeks early, the moment when Princess Child arrived and the wait to hear her first cry I welled up … and I’m doing it again this morning … will this never end!

I left the computer to distract myself with a magazine. Where I found the story about a woman diagnosed with breast cancer at 30 weeks pregnant. She survives, only to have a car accident with neck and internal injuries. Then there were several heart attacks from an infection after chemo. Finally she discovers she has secondary cancer in her liver. Her husband has written to the magazine spelling out his love for her and asking for a makeover to help restore her battered self-confidence. The tears drip onto the magazine.

I manage to make it through dinner without sobbing, despite the fact I burn the pie and overcook the vegetables.

I sit down to watch a comedy talk show In Gordon Street Tonight. It’s a COMEDY. Then Kurt Fearnley wheels on. He’s a multiple paraolympic medallist and the reigning Paraolympic and World Champion in the wheelchair marathon. Kurt was born with only half a spine, he’s a very inspiring bloke and funny to boot. Then they show a clip from the 2008 Paraolympics where he’s leading the pack and gets knocked over. Here they come again, ever so slightly the eyes start to tear. It was 2008  – Kurt’s over it – but apparently I’m not! But the kicker is when they show him CRAWLING the Kokoda Track. I’m boo hooing again.

The family is used to my regular crying sessions – tv dramas, commercials, music – anything can set me off. “Mum’s crying again” goes the yell.

I’m useless at farewells – at the school assemblies when the Principal whips out the flowers and says nice words about a departing teacher – I cry. I don’t even have to LIKE the teacher.

Why this over reaction to sometimes quite ordinary situations? How does everyone else manage to get through without the emotion? I’m not depressed. Could it be hormonal? Oh my God not menopause! I’m too young!  There will be some serious crying if that’s the case.