Okay, so if you could change something about yourself, what would it be? I think we probably could all come up with lots of things we’d want to change about ourselves, but I can tell you one of mine: I would be a better crier. I’m a terrible crier. I’ve always been so jealous of those girls on TV who look so beautiful while crying. You just want to reach out and wipe away that one crystal tear on their face. I know that in most cases they are not really crying, but still. Wouldn’t it be great if you could look beautiful while crying? I know this is possible for lots of women. I am not one of them. My face seems to get puffy before the tears even start to fall. And once they do start to fall, they don’t just trickle down slowly–I mean I really cry. My face gets all splotchy and my nose and eyes turn red. Oh yeah, and all this happens within the span of about thirty seconds. So it’s not like I look like this after I’ve been sobbing for hours. Nope. Thirty seconds and it looks like I’ve been weeping for days, or like I’ve been through a war.
I had a doctor’s appointment this week, and unfortunately, crying was involved on my part. I’m not very good at not crying when I feel like it. I don’t really cry that often (at least, when I’m not pregnant I don’t), but when I do, it’s real and it’s because I can’t keep from doing it. Some times are not as bad as others obviously. Like the fact that I cry every time I watch the ending of Sense and Sensibility (the one with Hugh Grant and Emma Thompson). That’s a rather light cry for me. But the thirty-seconds-to-looking-devastated situation can even happen during a movie cry for me. I wish it weren’t this way, but it’s one of those things. I was trying to fan myself and somehow keep from crying before my doctor came into the room, but that was wishful thinking, of course. He came in, I started crying, and he stood next to me while telling me that he was “very concerned, Brandy.” Then he looked at me nervously while my face continued to be puffy and red.
So it’s been one of those weeks for me. The emotional, pregnant kind. Every pregnant woman knows what I’m talking about. But we’ve almost reached the end of the road over here. Baby Lincoln could come at any time. And as the saying goes, “It’s my party and I’ll cry if I want to.” And while I wish I could be looking fantastic while I’m crying, people, it’s not going to happen.