Hormonal Overload

Last night was the big one. The emotional breakdown that had been building for 12 weeks. It was desperately needed. The tears fell uninhibited and I wailed like a pre-menstrual teenager who just broke up with "the love of her life" for close to two hours. It was not pretty and it certainly was not something I am proud of. Like the early morning glow after a night of indiscretion, I woke up with a heavy heart, puffy eyes and a nagging feeling I'd said something most definitely harmful. What spurred this overflow of emotion? Was it brought on by an emotional empty comment by the husband? Nope. Was it triggered by one of the many insensitive political mudslinging ads that bombard us every night? Nope. Maybe it was the result of a hallmark card moment between me and Riley the cat? Nope. I was just emotional and I couldn't hold it in any more. So I did the one thing any insane woman in my situation would do. I picked a fight with the husband. Now keep in mind I am no stranger to fight picking, I'm an expert. I've mastered my technique and perfected it down to a science where almost always can I manage to make the fight I pick look like the husbands fault. And in those few and far between incidences where that doesn't work I plead emotional instability. Last night was one of the latter. After rambling on about everything that he had done in the last millennia that bothered me I took a deep breath and realized I wasn't winning this fight. So I switched tactics, started crying and pleaded that the stress I was under was way too much for me to handle. While everything I complained about was true, in the middle of our little tiff was probably not the most appropriate time to bring it all up. When I still didn't receive the emotional pick-me-up my little preggo heart needed I instinctively switched back to bitching. About this time the husband decided he'd had enough of listening to me lay out out all of his flaws and stopped responding in a loving consoling manner. To a highly emotional pregnant woman is the equivalent of saying "I've had enough of your bitching and moaning, when you've run out of hot air, raise a flag in surrender." It took me a good ten minutes of this before I realized that he'd also switched tactics. Realizing my efforts were futile, I sadly acknowledged defeat and agreed it was best to continue discussing this in the morning. Looking back at the episode I realized that the husband has come leaps and bounds in his fighting technique. His phases of fighting were very much like the stages of life. Early in our relationship the mere sight of one of my tears would send him into a tailspin running around trying to find immediate solutions to my imaginary pain. Similar to a child still trying to figure out emotional backlash. Then he progressed to all out shouting back, in teenager fashion, which personally was not my favorite. He now has blossomed into an adult fighter who has learned all of my tricks and no longer falls for my petty attempts for attention. His fighting style is now that of a mature adult who's fights resembles more of a discussion than adolescent bickering. To the husband, I say Bravo! Congratulations! However for me, it's back to the drawing board. I've got 5 more months of pregnancy, I need to find his weakness and use it to my advantage. (insert evil echo laughter here)