Betsy's Blog

I used to be such an emotional person. I cried often, at the little stuff and the big stuff. I was a self described sap. TV shows, articles in the newspaper, even commercials could make me cry like a baby. That is, until I became a mother. I don’t cry any more. That is not to say I do not feel the feelings, it is just that they are stored up in my head, and in my body, and like a man, I do not know how to get them out. This bottleneck of tears and feelings is the strangest feeling, and one I did not expect in my preparations for becoming a mom.

I swear this started when I was in labor. My whole life I have cried when I see babies being born. Back in my human sexuality class, during my sister’s delivery of my nephew, and even watching strangers delivering babies on TV I would make me cry. Tears would flow at the beauty if a mom gazing at her newborn and me imagining the moment. How wrong I was! When Aidan was born they handed him to me, and as I looked down at him, reveling in this miracle I expected the tears to flow. They did not. Instead of feeling the overwhelming, powerful emotions that I always imagined I would feel in reality I felt a disconnected, vague sense of unreality. Instead of basking in the warm, much anticipated moment, I inspected him like a scientist. I noticed his color, and was worried about his grayish tone. I looked at his darting eyes, and worried if this was normal. I did not hear the lusty cries of a newborn, instead I heard whimpers. I worried about that too. I was scared. My gut told me something was wrong. No smile on my face, no deep emotional experience. No tears of elation or relief. I had feelings, and they were somewhere, but they weren’t coming out.

As I sit here, the day after my son’s surgery, I feel that similar sense of emotion, with no release. I endured the day of patiently distracting a starving child; anxiously waiting for the doctor to arrive as Aidan’s sedative wore off, and comforting my mother who cried as they took Aidan from my arms screaming “Mommy! Mommy!” When he awoke I heard his crying. I was not prepared for his confused, frantic, pain induced screams, and the realization that even in my arms he was not coherent enough to recognize me or feel comfort from my presence. That reality disturbed me and made me feel so helpless and scared. But still, stoic as I listened to the doctors and nurses tell me what to do, I did not cry. I went to the pharmacy, covered in bloody vomit, medicine, and mucus. So sleep deprived and exhausted from anxiety that I could hardly carry a coherent conversation with the pharmacist. I was pathetic and depleted. Still, no tears. I remember one time years back when I threw my back out and was in so much pain I showed up at the pharmacy in tears. Where is that girl?

I realize that I have become a man. Comforting my mother as she cried, comforting my nanny as she cried the night before the surgery. “He will be okay,” I assured. “This is for the best” I said. What?? Where is the weepy, sappy me? Where is the woman who feels society’s woes so acutely, who cries at the drop of a hat?