Today, as we four women were out and about, I officially heard "a new one." You know - a comment that people think is original and creative, but actually isn't? If I could get some $$ for every time I am/have been told: "You have YOUR hands full!" Or, "All girls? Better keep trying for that BOY!" I would be VERY rich at the moment. (Quick aside - Yes, my hands are full....with exactly what I want! And No - we have never tried for any gender...we've just been blessed beyond belief with each little bean in our pod.)
But I digress.
The comment I was told today was this..."Do you go crazy when you are pregnant?" (Bear in mind, this question was posed by a man who's significant other is apparently due in December - she was not present - who just saw me out with my children and my belly, and decided I looked stable enough to ask that particular question.)
For any of you who know me...or have read anything I have EVER written...you would know I am NOT a stable person! I have hormones rushing through me at adolescent levels even when I'm not pregnant...so when I AM pregnant the craziness reaches epic proportions.
I guess a good question back would have been, "How do you define 'Crazy?'"
If the definition of "a sane person" includes someone who would: flip out over an order of lunch meat getting messed up; sob shoulder racking cries while loading clothes in the washing machine; periodically hide from their children in the shower; plan into their week their "break down" time; cry over Hallmark cards randomly...that aren't even sappy; and use the "phone a friend" lifeline as a desperate hunt for her last strand of patience; then I would say, "No! Everyone does not go crazy when they are pregnant!"
(I mean, I haven't tried to kill anyone...yet.)
But really, that definition above does not describe a stable person. It does, however, describe ME. Not all my facets mind you...I like to keep people on their toes...but definitely some of them!
The poor man looked so overwhelmed with the woman at home who was vacillating between cries, laughter, anger, and panic; (I would em-pathetically assume!) he didn't want the truth. He just needed comfort. As Jack Nicholson said so eloquently in A Few Good Men: "The truth? You CAN'T handle the truth!"
I smiled. I wiped the ketchup from my stomach, the snot from my shoulder, and the spit from my thigh - and said, "We all have our days. Just love her." He seemed comforted by that and went on his way.