Cry baby

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Is it just me, or do all women become a gibbering wreck after having a baby?

I am no exception. I’ve always been a bit of a cryer, but it’s got completely out of control since the birth of baby Frog.

I finished an amazing book last night (Kazuo Ishiguro’s Never Let Me Go) and was almost hysterical by the end. It’s the saddest, most thought-provoking book I’ve read in a long time.

Now, I’m not saying I wouldn’t have cried at this before Frog was born. I probably would have had a little sniffle. Maybe a few gentle tears. But not the chest-wracking, snot-inducing, puffy-face stuff of last night.

I don’t know what it is about having a baby, but any slightly emotional thing now seems so horrendously distressing, I’m too scared to even turn on the TV. The Corrie tram crash episodes had me wailing like a banshee. I was utterly distraught after Ringo died on Neighbours. And don’t even get me started on the “Are You Really My Dad” episode on Jeremy Kyle the other day. I needed to do some deep breathing into a paper bag just to regain my composure. (No judgements about my taste in TV by the way, that is a whole other post).

Maybe it’s still the hormones (although how long I can keep blaming them is anyone’s guess), maybe it’s the fact I can empathise more now with situations involving children and parents. Or maybe seven months of little sleep has left me constantly on the edge of tears anyway.

Whatever it is, I better grow out of it before Frog’s first day of school. Even a paper bag won’t bring me round from that one.

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3 responses to “Cry baby

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