Cry me a river... or an entire flood plain

I've spoken about pregnancy hormones on Where's My Glow a few times already (here and here) and how they've been playing havoc with me. Whilst I'm still experiencing this phenomenon (which Hubby refers to as the “Psycho Bitch from Hell” phase) a new symptom has decided to rear its ugly head. The tears.

Everything, and I really mean that, no exaggerations here at all, everything makes me cry.

I have always been a bit of a crier and see it as a disability of sorts. If I get angry or frustrated, hot tears start to prickle at my eyes and WHAM I'm crying. This is fine if you're mid argument with someone, but in a work situation it makes me look like a silly little girl who can't control her emotions. Well you should see me now! I don't even need to get anywhere near anger or frustration because I start crying at “oh how unfortunate” and even “that's so adorable”.

The other morning I was getting my Weetbix ready and managed to spill the milk (can you see where this is going?). My interior monologue went something like this: “Oops. That was stupid. You're so stupid. You can't do ANYTHING right EVER AGAIN! You're going to be a TERRIBLE MOTHER.” I cannot say what happened in the nanosecond between oops and terrible mother – a strange force had taken over me. So the tears started. Just really small, almost cute tears until Hubby thought he would try to cheer me up by saying with a giggle “Haven't you heard the saying about crying over spilt milk?” Then the real tears started. Big, fat, slide down your face and plop on to the table tears. I swear I could hear a little splash as a giant pool started forming. At this point a rather shocked Hubby suggested very gently (quite possibly while protecting his manhood with a chopping board) that maybe I should go back to bed for a few minutes and try again soon while he cleaned up the 2ml of milk from the bench. So I plodded off down the hallway, wailing like a banshee to bury myself under the doona.

I think I could handle the crying if there was some sort of pattern I could prepare for. But it is totally unpredictable and so frustrating that it brings me to, well, tears actually. I'm not sure which is better, being a psycho who you don't want to mess with for fear of losing valuable body parts, or “that pregnant woman who cries all the time”. Either way I've started counting down to Tricky's birth not just because I'm looking forward to meeting him, but because hopefully it means the rollercoaster of hormones will be coming to an end.