Crying and the three owl babies

When I cry for any more than 2 minutes the following happens: my eyelids swell up, my nose blocks completely, I have a red and blotchy face and I can’t speak for sobbing. It is ugly, I look like early anaphylaxis. This has impacted hugely on my ability to get what I want in life through crying, I am a revolting looking crier. Some women are pretty criers and frequently get what they want as small tears run down their cheeks making their eyes more sparkly and smiling little half smiles and hiccups. “There, there lovely girl. Don’t cry. Of course you can have a pony/I’ll never do it again/It’s not your fault” etc.

I hate these pretty criers, they seem fake to me snivelling about and manipulating people with their crocodile tears. Much better by far to be a swollen faced monster when you really are upset and then not cry again for months.

Children are exempt from this it seems, my children can howl and sob and seconds later look as Boden catalogue pretty as they did pre-meltdown. It was time for some major tears when I left for work the other night as they were tired and didn’t want me to leave. I managed to escape by reminding them about the owls in the working mummy’s best bedtime story “Owl Babies” by Martin Waddell which is much loved in our house. The story is that there are three owlets whose mummy has gone to get them some food. The three siblings anxiously await their mother returning to the nest, imagining that she is lost or a fox has eaten her. On her arrival back they are thrilled to see her “what’s all the fuss?” the mummy owl says very nonchalantly “you knew I’d come back”. It’s essential reading for small people with working mothers. Especially mothers who don’t want to cry about leaving their babies because crying makes them look like pigs.

Sarah and Percy and Bill

Sarah and Percy and Bill

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