I've been feeling sad lately; biting my lip to keep from crying and usually losing the battle. Nearly everything makes me feel like a complete and utter failure, and so I cry. Most days, I blame the pregnancy hormones and am able to shrug it off.
But sometimes there's a little something extra.
Early in my pregnancy, superstitions began to creep in. I knew it was silly, but I couldn't help it. I felt like my expanding womb was an omen. Bad things happen when I'm pregnant. Bad, bad things. Bad things like dads dying. Like my dad dying. I get pregnant, people die! I told The Man that if I have to attend another funeral wearing maternity clothes, my uterus is coming out with the baby. Full hysterectomy to save the human race.
Of course, I was only joking.
And, mostly, the superstition faded. But then we had to put down the dog, and don't think there wasn't a small part of me that thought, "See! Things die when I'm pregnant!"
This past Saturday would've been my dad's 57th birthday. He died in May, shortly after turning 48. I recently pulled out the maternity dress I wore to his memorial service. I am now carrying the second grandchild that he will never meet. I am normally a little sad about all this, but he died nine years ago. I'm pretty much through the grieving process. Memories of him make me happy now, not sad.
But, oh those hormones. Everything makes me sad now. I forgot to buy tomatoes for the chili I made last night, and that made me cry. So it's probably no surprise that the birthday kind of did me in this weekend. Except that it didn't hit me over the weekend. No. That would've been too convenient. Instead, it waited for my drive to work this morning.
One minute I was sitting at a red light, and the next minute I was trying to navigate around cars, cyclists, and pedestrians with tears streaming down my face. Uncontrollable tears. The kind that just flow, peacefully and silently. There was no sobbing. No quivering lip. No sniffling nose.
Just tears, profuse and profound.