I hate progesterone.
It's murder on my contact lenses.
See, I cry at the drop of the hat and, while it seems like a perfectly rational reason to cry at the time, later on I feel like a giant ass (with a giant ass) and have a ruined pair of contacts to go with it.
Last night's tear duct explosion was about Sophie and her insistence on calling my soon-to-be daughter her "child" instead of her "grandchild." Also her habit of opening the door to greet me by telling me I look tired before she tells me hello. If she tells me hello.
Should I do the adult thing and tell her to stop those things because they offend my excessively delicate ego? Should I explain to her that, while she shouldn't have to walk on eggshells around me, common courtesy dictates that telling an almost-5-month-pregnant woman she looks terrible and then minimizing her role in the pregnancy by calling the kid yours instead of hers is bound to end in a) tears or b) a black eye? No, I'll blubber like an idiot in the sushi restaurant...and in my car parked in my garage...and in my bedroom during a recorded Law and Order.
Poor Dim doesn't know what to do. Defending his mother only makes it worse. Reasoning with me gets him nowhere. He's taken to huddling up against me and saying nothing until I quiet down and saying "How about we restart Law and Order?"
I'm going to go change my contacts now.
Posted by Jen at December 9, 2005 9:20 AM