Week 34, Day 5 (Weeper Jeepers.. don't wear out those peepers)
I am NOT going to cry. Not not not acceptable. (sniffs, flings head back defiantly, glares at world)
Bloody hormones. Sod off the lot of you. DAMMIT I am NOT going to cry! How wet can you get? BAAAAAHHHHRRRRGGHHHHH!!! (punches wall)
Apparently it's one of those signs that pregnancy is drawing to a close, but I'm not thrilled about this one. I'm only confessing to this because my tenuous control over my tear ducts is slipping, and one of these days I'm going to bawl in front of someone.
Take me out and shoot me now.
Twice today the snifflies have nearly ambushed me, and not even for any good reason. I can't watch even the least "emotive" programme on TV without getting sucked in to the melodrama. If you know me, you know I'd rather gnaw my foot off than be one of those chicks who cries during the movie. In fact my poor mother nearly got her head bitten off & handed to her when she told me I'd cry when I first see my baby.
Yeah yeah.. I probably will.. but if anyone blabs I'll cut their tongue out (via their ear).
Don't think I'm cold & unfeeling; quite the opposite :-) The difference is that I see crying as a big red flag that screams "I'm a wimp! Universe come and get me", so I avoid displaying vulnerability & weakness at all costs.
Which of course means I'm a raving nutter, no arguments there.
But at least I'm not a soggy nutter, so all is not lost ;-)
So just in case the books are right and this kid is thinking about making an early entrance, I suppose I'd better get the bag packed, the padders finished, and the pram washed.
Anything to keep busy and not be ambushed by the weepies.. perish the thought!
posted by Karl at
8:00 am
4 Comments:
Sorry to have to report that my weepies lasted until the second kid was three. I was shocked at myself - sad movies, happy ending movies, baby perfectly healthy but hadn't put on much weight between Plunket visits, burning the potatoes, the nasty mannerless mutt five doors down the road dying... took nothing to make me sob. So irritating.
LOL - thanks ladies :-)) Adrienne, I'm already doing the PF-thing so much that baby thinks he's on a trampoline. (It's my secret revenge when he starts using my bladder as a punching bag). Little horror absolutely loves it :-)
Wino: oh NOOOOOOO.......! (runs away screaming.. oh okay, waddles away very fast, screaming, or at least would scream if had breath)
Dear Soggy Nuts,
Let it out in secret so your stress hormones don't make srpoglet cranky. The old bod (just a euphemism, of course, not saying you're old - oh no, of COURSE not!) knows what it needs. What's all that hair for on the Wobble if you can't wipe your nose on it from time to time? Just don't let Joey see...
Pooh, Mb. If I wiped anything on The Wobble it would come away wetter than it started out ;-) When the universe realised they'd shortchanged Golden Retrievers on the 'common sense' gene, they overcompensated by giving them the drool gene of four dogs.
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