“ricocheting emotions” – to say the least!

“Welcome to week 8 of pregnancy!  You may begin experiencing ricocheting emotions as your hormones fluctuate wildly…” a friendly email reminds me this morning of what I all ready know very well, thank you very much.  Yesterday was a particularly wild emotional ride.  One worth sharing actually.

The day started with me realizing my awful cat, Putty had peed on my swimsuit cover up which is the reason why my whole luggage had wreaked for 5 days.  I sat for 5 minutes hopping mad, imagining all the ways I could murder Putty when I got home in a way that would not send me to prison for animal cruelty.  I even imagined where in the backyard I would bury his battered body.  Suddenly I realized I was probably ‘just preggers emotional’ & Putty doesn’t deserve death for his pee-ing ways.

Next, I was standing in line to board my Chicago bound flight when a woman said in a rude tone, “can you and your stuff get out of my way, my God!”  Then she pushed me with her giant bag & ran over my toes with her luggage.  Okay, pregnancy aside on a normal day I would have been tempted to embaress her with a quick & witty comeback at her expense, just for a laugh.  On a great day, I would have ‘killed her with kindness’ –which inevitably leads to an apology and reconciliation.  But yesterday was not one of those days.  As she walked away I imagined dropping my things, chasing her down, wrestling her to the ground & smacking her face over and over and over again until she bled and begged me to stop beating her tail.  This particular fantasy was so satisfying I never snapped out of it.  The flight attended interupted, “Ma’m.  Ma’m, ticket please.  Ma’m?”

Next, within 5 minutes of taxing for a runway, the pilot says our flight will be delayed for an hour.  Immediately I knew I’d miss

 my connector to Kalamazoo.  Which meant I’d spend yet another night alone.  Another night stuck in explitive Chicago & another night away from my son whom I’d missed badly.  Without warning I just bust out crying.  It was as if the pilot had said, “I’m sorry but we will all die in 5 minutes.”  The sweet old white man next to me touched my shoulder and said “are you going to be okay?”  This is the point in the day when I prayed (to myself), “Oh Lord why do I want to murder Putty, rude women & am now crying over an hour delay?  Help me Lord!”

Next,  mid-flight I was watching the *FANTASTIC* documentary, Man on Wire.  In the film it details the dream & life spent of a wirewalking french man, Phillippe Petit who crosses a 200 ft. thin wire strung between the two world trade center towers 8 times for more than 45 minutes while doing various tricks like getting on one knee, dancing & laying on the wire.  In recollection of the event, Phillippe’s best friend breaks down in tears of joy and pride.  Well, by this point Phillippe is my best friend too! a man to respect, so of course I bust out crying too.  I mean, not just tears, I was sobbing.  My sweet old white man neighbor said, “are you okay?”  I replied through tears, “Yes, I’m in the early stages of pregnancy and I’m very emotional & I’m watching a very powerful documentary.”  He says, “oh, I see.”  And I go back to crying.

Next, a two week old baby starts wailing on decent.  This time, I cried for no particular reason.  The sound of that baby did me in though.  When I landed and found out my luggage was lost, well, those tears were of genuine frustration & exhaustion.

Ladies, I would like to apologize.  I, Grace Biskie am the reason men say women are too emotional, irrational and should never run the country.  My adoring husband says he could never in good faith allow me to go into politics because he knows one bad day of PMS’ing and I would bomb a whole country.  In fact, I’d be so sadistic I’d probably want to push the button myself which would blow up millions of innocent people.

But, when I look back at yesterday -despite my eruptions- I did NOT kill a cat, slap a snotty woman, curse the pilot, curse Chicago -okay fine, but in my head or curse the luggage people.  When I got home I even gave my Putty boy a hug.

Ricochet aint the word yall.