When Lukas is upset and comes to me crying wanting a hug, I cry with him.

When Lukas kisses me and says, “I luh Momma” I cry because he’s just said that he loves me.

When Jessie unwittingly says something insensitive, instead of having my usual response of ripping him a new one, I cry.

When I wake up early in the morning and vomit stomach acid in the toilet, I cry.

When I watch any mildly touching scenario on the television, I cry.

It wasn’t this bad during my pregnancy with Lukas.  The crying seemed to come more after Lukas was born.  I was talking to Helen a couple of weeks ago and I was telling her about how I was watching the movie “Pumpkinhead” for Halloween (Lukas was only a few weeks old) and when that little blond boy gets killed I LOST.  MY.  SHIT.  I’m not talking tears silently streaming down my face either.  I’m talking body jerking, snot running down my face, red puffy eyes, can’t talk I’m so choked up bawling.  Jessie was slightly freaked out.

Tonight, we rented “Where the Wild Things Are” and watched it after we put Lukas to bed.  I’ve been wanting to watch this movie since it came out.  This was one of my favorite books when I was little.  I loved the pictures and I always loved how Max’s mom recants her punishment of no dinner so that when he comes back to his room it is still hot and waiting for him.  It was a typical mom move in my universe.

The movie though.  Oh my goodness.  I’ll be good and I won’t spoil it for anybody.  It’s not a movie for small children like I expected.  There were so many underlying messages and conflicts in this movie that I think only an adult can truly appreciate and understand.  It really affected me.  I know that a lot of it had to do with these effing hormones.  Don’t talk to me about “Dumbo” or “Father of the Bride” or “Terms of Endearment” because the very thought of those movies makes me choke up.  Still, some of those underlying issues in this movie really hit me.  They really hit a sensitive spot.

Not all wounds heal with a desensitized scar.  Sometimes those scars are sensitive and when even lightly grazed they prickle and burn, just to remind you that they are there.  While not always visible, those scars are sometimes disfiguring.  You try to hide them from prying eyes.  You try to keep them hidden in such a way so as not to draw curiosity and therefore questions.  Sometimes those scars are too big to hide completely.  Sometimes they are always slightly visible and passersby are able to see that you are damaged somehow.

That movie was like a rough callused finger brushing across a very gnarly scar.  That movie seriously just broke my flinty little heart.

I’m sure the hormones have a lot to do with this.  I don’t like to be a person who blames every hissy fit on my hormones, but I’m usually not a big crier.  The only thing that I can think to so in a situation like this is blame it on the hormones.  If I watch it again in a year or so after things have smoothed out, will I still be so torn open?  Yeah, I will.  But to this degree?  I mean, it’s not Dumbo saying goodbye to his mom through those bars *sob*.  And it’s not a young bride-to-be having a close and loving relationship with her father.  And it’s not a difficult but close mother/daughter relationship being torn apart by cancer.

But it was still about a little boy trying to make sense of his angry feelings.  A little boy trying to make sense of the actions of the adults in his life.  A little boy projecting his fear and his confusion towards the people he loves in an imaginary world.  It was about a child that felt left behind while the “big” characters in his life were sucked in to their own problems and details.

So ok, this movie just may be a close second to “Dumbo.”  At least this time I have a better reason that just one particular scene.  But that one particular scene kills me every single time.  Don’t you judge me.  It’s terrible.

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