Pregnancy has given me an excuse to cry without being belittled about it. It’s to the point where my husband is whispering to others, “Don’t worry, she’s okay. She’s just pregnant.” I almost let the cat out of the bag of our impending news on Facebook when I admitted to crying at an episode of “The People’s Court.” Now I cry at Folgers commercials. My point is, it doesn’t take much.
Now I’ve realized that these hormones may make me overreact at times. For instance, I took my wedding rings to our jeweler to be sized up just a bit. Ever since I had the two bands sauntered together, it’s been a tight fit. I’ve wanted to do this for a while now and since I’m pregnant, I imagine my fingers will only get chubbier. So we went on Saturday and I felt like the “ master jewelry repairman,” as he introduced herself to me as, was being a bit argumentative with me when weighing the pros and cons of resizing my set. I felt myself on the verge of tears in the middle of a jewelry store yall. W…T…F?! We got out to the car and Neal assured me he just wanted to make sure I was making an informed decision. An informed decision?! No. No. You make informed decisions about marriage, babies, moving 401l's to IRA’s, jobs, etc. Not on a decision to resize my ring up a quarter size.
I called a friend last night because I wanted to lament over the fact that I can’t eat tuna anymore. (Turns out mercury poisoning would be bad to contact with a baby growing inside me.) I really wanted tuna last night. And I was… distraught! Said friend didn’t answer the phone, and that’s probably a good thing.
So unless you’re Neal or my mother, I would advise that you not answer the phone if I call you between the hours of 6 and 8 pm. Those seem to be the worst times for me because I’m usually home, alone, with entirely too much quietness to reflect on things. Also, this is prime time for tear-inducing commercials. Just giving you a heads up.