It's 4am. I have been awake for two hours. I hear him cry. Even though he didn't wake me up, I don't feel like getting out of bed. I know he isn't hungry. He is crying for me because he is lonely. Because he wants to be held. Because he is awake in the middle of the night. I go to him and his sobbing stops as soon as I pick him up.
Babies use their tears to communicate. It tells us they are hungry, tired, cold, bored, or really pissed that you took the bag of tacks out of their reach. Kids cry too. A lot. I realize that every single day my kids are reduced to a wet puddle. This house could float away on tears shed in a week. They cry when they are frustrated, over tired, disappointed or when their feelings are hurt. The angry cries can be infuriating, and the quiet sad tears can break your heart.
I have come to believe that this is a good thing, all this crying even when it is painfully annoying. (Crying over a missing Buzz Lightyear sock?) I always know exactly how my boys are feeling, there is no guess work. The tears are often just what they need to get over something, it's a fabulous release.
I wonder when I lost my ability to cry. Don't get me wrong I can cry, on occasion, but often times the tears fail to come, even when I will them to be there. When I left Denver and said my goodbyes most of the encounters left my eyes dry. It was only as I pulled away from our home that I broke down in sobs, alone in my car. It seems these days tears require a powerful shove by a couple glasses of wine and a sappy song.
This week has been hard, I won't bore with the details, but I believe that I surely would have benefited from a good cry. I think it would do me some good. Perhaps a viewing of Terms of Endearment may be in order...... Shirley MacLaine always makes me cry. Bring it Shirley.