A Tearful Confession

Well, I can no longer deny it. I am a crier. (My husband is laughing right now. Duh, he's saying.)
I used to secretly make fun of moms when they'd cry at a Hallmark commercial. When friends at school would cry over a boy or not making the team or whatever the case may be, I just didn't get it. At summer camp when all of the students around me would be weeping, it's not that I didn't feel, I just didn't feel moved to tears.

When Aaron and I started dating, I proudly declared that I was not an emotional girl. I never cried. I could almost see him breathe a sigh of relief after dating a couple girls with a propensity towards drama. I'm just not like that, I assured him.

Fast forward eight years. I've cried probably four times this week. Ha! No wonder my husband looks at me like he's completely confused when my eyes start to leak! Poor guy.

For the longest time, I blamed it on stress or the fluxuating hormones that come with having children or any number of other things... but the fact is, I suppose have so much more at stake now than I did at 19. Life... the little things... the big things... well, they all mean so much more than they used to. When a bride walks down the aisle, or a family is broken, or someone achieves something they've always wanted, or if my husband writes me a sweet card or if he gets upset with me, or if my kids tell me, "Mommy, I love you sooooooooooo much!" -- those are all big deals.

So... to my dear husband. I'm sorry. It's not that I was lying back then. I'm just not the same girl I used to be, and I like to think that (for the most part) it's for the better. Thanks for (inadvertantly) showing me that there are things worth crying for. I love living life with you!