I’m a monster of a cry baby…and a CARD-CARRYING UGLY CRIER at that. It’s primal, that bawling of mine, and it doesn’t take much to get that ‘bawl’ rolling. All that sniveling, spontaneous, blubbering, weeping shows every sign of having been hard-wired.

My dad was a crier. We held hands watching “Father Knows Best” and “Make Room for Daddy” and if an episode included a tender daughter/daddy moment we choked up  – and then we boohooed. And oh how we carried on. Likewise, our salty droplets could easily be put into motion if a dog died or a sentimental commercial played. A funeral? …forget about it.  

There is no disguising the turning on of my waterworks. The telltale sign, where my face turns bright red, is quite apparent. TO EVERYBODY. Once my eyes well up there’s this momentary pause and then the spill begins. And once those cascading tears subside, I am left with a blotchy, mottled, colorful mess that takes way too long to fizzle out. There’s no hiding the blubbering – so I have to own it or go hide in a closet for an hour or five.

My mom was also a crier of epic proportion… a letter-reading, nostalgic-remembering blubber-er. But to an even greater degree, it was her uncontrollable fits of laughter that could lead to those tears tumbling at the drop-let of a hat. Giggles and hysterics were her prelude to crying her eyes out.

There’s also the matter of a different kind of trickling. That is to say, another way for the flow to go…

Notably, during my mom’s epic episodes of laughter, I would need to brace myself for the inevitable. With her cross-leggedy, GET OUT OF MY WAY, scooching gallop, she would desperately be trying to make it to the toilet. Now it could turn out to be a just-in-time-ish scenario – BUT MORE OFTEN – it was her hyperventilating, convulsive laughter that was quick to lead to an –

unintended,

uncontainable,

unavoidable,

uninhibited,

unstoppable,

tinkle.

Which reminds me of this noteworthy declaration, “sometimes I laugh so hard that tears run down my leg”. And lucky old me, my mom lovingly passed along this charming, in the thick of unrestrained giggling, inability to ‘hold it in’.

Yes indeedy, my genes are chock-full of the propensity for overflowing of all kinds. There is nothing watertight about me. So I cry at commercials, HGTV, watching a parade, grandparents dancing and anything puppy-related. Reading a greeting card. I cry. My children say something especially kind to me. I cry. Poring over a book. I cry. Landing on a movie already in progress, not knowing anything about the plot or the characters and, you guessed it, CRY. 

Likewise… I jump, I pee. I sneeze. I pee. I cough. I pee. I run. I pee. I lift something. And, I pee. And although these are only pintsized trickles, it’s clear to me all that dancing around in my bedroom is not getting my pelvic floor into any kind of obliging, eager-to-help shape.

And whether from up-top or down-below it’s clear to me that all roads lead to water works. I inherited it all from the best.

I’m embarrassed to admit that I recently ‘answered the call of nature’ while having a toilet dream; a watery sequence where I was “going… going… goooooing”. HEY, before you judge, I’m a really sound sleeper…like an alarm going off, thunder-roaring, raucous party occurring next door, can-sleep-through-anything kind of gal. TMI? Come on, it’s happened to you too, right? Helloooo?? Are you there?? … wait, what?!! You think you are infallible???!! Just wait. It’ll haaaappen. Sooner or later… probably sooner hotshot, so take the necessary precautions. You’re welcome.

To sum up this outpouring of my inclination towards hydrous ACCOMPLISHMENTS…

… there’s nothing like a “good cry” to bring about a stirring release of pent-up emotion.

… the pleasure derived from hilarious, water-soaked cheeks is exhilarating and can be life-affirming.

… and finally, a change of underwear is nothing to be ashamed of particularly in the wake of thigh-slapping, sidesplitting bundles of fun…

… or a powder room nightmare.

~image via creative commons