heartbreaking job of staggering proportions

I've always been an excellent crier. I'd consider putting it on my resume if it was somehow considered a good thing to anyone at all besides me and waterproof mascara marketers. Growing up I always got the feeling my Mom didn't really like my cry-baby ways, and thought it was sorta mean of her and boy don't you know I took that to my therapy bank of childhood wrongs. In fact I featured her in a film that I made about this hot topic called "The Girl Who Couldn't Stop Crying".

Or for faster service, here it is:



So I imagine this won't the the last time I say this, but, I kinda get why my Mom was that way.

(space for emphasis!)

Because hearing that boy cry his little guts out makes me want to stab my eyeballs and run into traffic. It's freakin' devastating. Little dude has been on a bit of a crying jag at night, not so much during the warmth of the day where it's mostly cooing, gurgling and general good baby stuff. But when the sunset show starts and we rev up our bath, singing, changing, feeding and book reading routine, he looses it. I mean, whoa. Based on the screeching and wailing you'd think some terrible baby-hating person is hiding near by and shooting him with rubber bands. You laugh, but I check.

My usual PE routine is to hike either in the morning or evening just about daily. And boy-oh-boy don't you know these warm summer evenings are just cracklicious with the lingering light and cooling-down-the-city breezes. Just beeeoyutiful. But seeing as how we're supposed to start our "please baby go to sleep" routine around you know, 6 or 7 it's seriously cutting into my hiking time. Damn baby!

Tonight I went anyway, because I have a bad attitude clearly.

This is a shot from a recent hike, you can see how ridiculously cute the little bean is hiking along in the Moby wrap.

So anyway, the bedtime went late, the crying party started and that's my point I guess. As I was driving home the short distance from the mountain to my house he started up and it quickly escalated from 'huh' to 'what the hell!' to 'what the f is your problem lady!' and was so committed that he produced REAL TEARS. Oh people, really. At 3.5 months old, I really haven't seen this much yet and when I do it's too much for one heart to bear.

To try to appease his hysteria, I pulled over and changed his diaper on my lap. Unfortunately this little party trick is about to be done because he's just too damn big now. So while simultaneously kicking me in the milk machines, and doing a suicidal back bend, he screamed and screamed. Good times. So by then I'm crying hysterically and wishing I still drank alcohol, (ooooh, fun topic, stay tuned!) but instead carefully drove home to get some back-up from the father figure.

Because when he gets into that crying machine, with the punctuations of wails and thrashing, my heart turns inside out. You know how you bend a pomegranate in un-natural positions to get all the sweet little pods out? Like that. So my juicy little heart pods are strewn around my car and house tonight, and I am hard pressed to remember a time in my life that has been so bittersweet.

Btw - just want to give a little shout out to the followers that are now following. Hot damn! That's really cool and makes me feel just a little bit better about my existence. Thanks for slowing down this existential crisis!