I have never been much of a crier. I cry for personal griefs and misfortunes, hurt feelings, the pain of loved ones, great societal injustices, yes, I cry. But heart tugging long distance telephone commercials, movies, tears of joy... never my thing. These pregnancy hormones are driving me crazy. I distinctly remember watching the Su.sa.n Boy.le audition on youtube (which for anyone living under a rock as I was until a close friend made me aware of it about a year after it surfaced, you can see it here) before getting knocked up and thinking, 'cool, underdog makes good! You go girl!' But that was about it. Now I cannot watch the sucker without full-on tear tracks and runny nose. But it gets even worse... I cannot read the poem below without crying... it's not even sad... or even that moving...
Bed in Summer
Robert Louis Stevenson
IN winter I get up at night
And dress by yellow candle-light.
In summer, quite the other way,
I have to go to bed by day.
I have to go to bed and see
The birds still hopping on the tree,
Or hear the grown-up people’s feet
Still going past me in the street.
And does it not seem hard to you,
When all the sky is clear and blue,
And I should like so much to play,
To have to go to bed by day?
Yes, I know... I KNOW!! Nothing to cry over. I cried just now copying and pasting the sucker. I suppose it makes me think of la cocotte. How little she is in contrast to how big her toddler tragedies feel to her. How the little injustices she feels now will pale in comparison to hardships and bumps along the road she will inevitably encounter. How she will grow up so quickly and however much I try to drink in all the time I can with her now, I will inevitably wish I had held her more tightly, snuggled more often, buried my nose in her hair, stayed awake to watch her sleep, protected her more fiercely and though it feels impossible somehow loved her better.