If you've ever been pregnant, dealt with a pregnant partner, friend, or family member, or if you have even a passing knowledge of how the whole reproduction thing works, you know that ladies with buns in their ovens are, to put it nicely, a bit more sensitive than normal. Which is to say that a pregnant woman will dissolve into a puddle of tears at the slightest provocation, whether it be a sappy movie or a craving that can't be fulfilled because it's 3 a.m. and there are no Chick-Fil-A's in a hundred mile radius.
I will admit that in general, I'm a fairly emotional person, and I always have been. As a kid, I remember crying over forgetting to do my homework. As an adult, I've lost count of the number of times I've been reduced to tears over frustrations at work. I've bawled over sad news stories. I've wept over a beer commercial. I also reflexively cry any time anyone around me is crying. So when I was pregnant, I was expecting a little emotional upheaval. I anticipated a few ugly cries over things like the constant worry I had for my unborn baby, or fear of the drastic changes my life would undergo as a parent. But no, these perfectly normal anxieties weren't what usually got me sobbing. No, it was far weirder than that.
Here are the three most bizarre things that set me off:
I drove by a small group of mailmen and women on strike outside my local post office one day. By the time I really registered what I was seeing, I'd driven past them, so of course I cried hysterically. They worked so hard to bring me my mail everyday, through wind and rain and sleet and snow, and I didn't even acknowledge their protest. I was really mad at myself for not honking my horn in a show of solidarity, and to this day I still feel guilty about it. Because that's normal.
When I found out that Jennifer Aniston got married again (finally!), I absolutely lost my shit. I was driving, and when the DJ on the radio announced the nuptials, the waterworks started. I think I cried more tears of happiness over her wedding than I did my own (sorry, hubby). I just was suddenly flooded with joy that she finally got her fairytale ending. This is especially weird to me in retrospect because I've always been firmly Team Angelina.
Okay, this last one was the most worrisome of all. Remember when Donald Trump made those controversial comments about Mexican immigrants last year? I was settling into my first trimester when that whole brouhaha went down, and while watching the news coverage reacting to his statement, I found myself in tears. Why, you ask? Was it because I found what he said personally offensive? Or that I sympathized with the millions of Mexican Americans angered by it? No, it was because I was afraid that the media backlash would hurt Trump's feelings. I was actually worried about a guy who's not only a billionaire but also one of the most famous and powerful people in the world. Regardless of how you feel about him as a politician or even as a reality TV star, I think we can all agree that this is a man who doesn't need the sympathy of a hormonal pregnant stranger. In fact, if Trump ever stumbles upon this post, he'll probably tweet about how I'm a total loser and that he's a much, much better writer than I am.
I'd like to say that this emotional craziness has run its course now that I've had my daughter, but I can't, because that would be a lie. But at least when I go on a crying jag now, it's for a sensible reason. Like how there are still no Chick-Fil-A's in a hundred mile radius.