Crying is a strange thing isn't it?
Its the only form of communication for tiny babies and as mums we tear our hair (which after the birth is already falling out) out to find out what it is the bundles of joy are trying to tell us - food, sleep, food, nappy, heat, food, boredom, food, temperature, food?????
Then as we get a bit bigger it can be a call for attention or a desire to be comforted, mother wipes away our tears and kisses our booboos.
A bit older still and the crying is angry and frustrated because mum wont let us to do whatever it is we want to do and all our friends mums let our friends do it cos they are so much , like way cooler than you mum.
There's homesick crying and feeling sorry for yourself crying, once we spread our wings and fly, even if its only during university term time and less than 100 miles away from mummy and daddy.
There's heartbroken crying when we fly back home to dad's egg and chips, the only meal that we can eat when we are heartbroken and the love of our life has left us for a Fresher.
There's the shared crying during the times when pregnancies have gone wrong, or there have been scary medical results or our babies are poorly.
There's the time we watched as the strongest man in our life cried huge, open mouthed , agonising, sobbing, wracking grief...but we wont talk about that, that is not our's to talk about.
There is the deranged, can't cope, can't sleep, can't function, early mother hood crying, when hormones are running amok and mastitis is making us sweat and ache.
There is happy crying too, but at the moment we can't quite remember what that feels like.
And now there's the time, when after weeks of rushing about and being pulled this way and that way, coping with changes, illnesses and unpleasant surprises, there is a small lull in the day, where we get out of the car and survey our house and wonder where we could sit , just for a minute to weep and not be heard by the neighbours or the postman, because finally there is time to stop and crying, we find, is the one thing that we need to do. What kind of crying is this? There is no one to kiss our tears away, no one to stroke our hair, no one to put a plaster on our knee.
There is the little voice inside our head reminding us that the cup is STILL half full. Others have it a lot, lot worse.
What kind of crying is this?
I don't know
But it is lonely and it is sad, but once it is over, we might feel a bit better...
