There's no crying in baseball

Tom Hanks, as baseball coach to 1940s women's team, memorably yells this to a sobbing player in A League of Their Own. This line has become a mantra of sorts between me and my mother. That's maybe not accurate, let me try again: During the many times that I have burst into tears throughout my life, Mom has responded with this line. She even told me this on my wedding day; granted she said it through her own tears.

There may not be crying in baseball, but, my god, is it present in pregnancy! I have burst into tears so often this week, I'm in danger of becoming dehydrated. Granted I am no stranger to tears. I tend to cry when I'm sad, or angry or happy or touched or overwhelmed or on Tuesdays, but this is getting ridiculous. I called Kim this week, said hi, everything was fine, I had no discernible source of agitation (rare moment - I know) but she asks how I am and I became a sobbing mess. I'm holding back big, gulping, choking sobs.

I have cried this week while driving, shopping, eating, reading, emailing, talking, thinking. This is getting out of hand. Who cries because Marty Robbins is singing? Yes, it is a rare thing to hear on Canadian airwaves and I am from El Paso, but really? tears? Today, I read an email from a dear friend, laughed at her wit, and immediately let loose a flood. Remember when I wondered if I had lost my mind or if I was just pregnant? Apparently, it's a double positive.

Yes, I know this is normal, I've got oodles of hormones running around with no place to escape except my tear ducts, apparently. Mom kindly pointed out that all women cry a lot during pregnancy. I just happened to be one who cried a lot before pregnancy. Last night, Andrew asked if I could just stop being crazy. I told him I'd quit right about the time he stopped saying stupid things. God help him.

I think the truly bothersome thing about the random crying is the feeling that I'm not in control. Intellectually, I realize that I'm not and I have some vague inkling that this feeling is intrinsically linked to motherhood. The actual experience of it unnerves me. The feeling is altogether similar to that of depression - with the elephantine difference being the noticeable lack of suffocating sadness. The similarities have kept me from sitting back and riding the hormone rush and laughing about how totally ridiculous it is to cry continuously.

But this is, in fact, different. There is no sadness, just my body making adjustments for our house guest. It's nice to be here at this point. We're in week 23. The baby is weighing a whole pound! From here on out, we just have to beef up, while she explores all the possible organs into which she can stick her appendages. She's occasionally found what, I can only guess, is my spleen and boy does it hurt. But it's a pleasant kick to my internal organs - that's how I know she's there. It's nice to say, "Oh yes, I am six months pregnant." Even if I have to follow it by saying," Yes, I know you can hardly tell. If you say that again, I may start crying."