Expect to Cry At Upbeat Songs

The first trimester for me was three month marathon of craziness chalk-full of nausea and emotional turmoil. One day I hated Husband with every ounce of my being (sad I know), the next day he was quite possibly the best human being on the planet. One morning I was begging for saltines, the next day they were of the devil. I was a mess. Add working full-time in a new, demanding career on top of it and you've got the perfect pregnancy storm.

I cried at all the classic things: homeless people on the street, pictures of monkeys hugging cats, those damn commercials that encourage you to donate to dogs that have been abused. It was all extremely typical.

But one day my emotions got confused. I can't really blame them. I'm pretty...what's the word...eccentric? as it is so I'm sure my brain was on overload while trying to deal with a second being in my body. (Say all you like but I'm positive that baby is like a second personality. Ya know, with trying to get me to eat a sickening amount of ice cream, and making me put my underwear over my pants. That sort of thing). Poor brain!

I was only a few months into my new job, 1 1/2 months in to the pregnancy, and was feeling quite stressed over all the responsibilities on my plate. (Not to mention I was working with kiddos all day long while fighting back crazy nausea. Sheesh to the max). One fine morning I was halfway through my 40-minute drive to work and was trying to pep-talk myself into having more confidence.

Normal people do this right? I'd hate to find out now that I was already clinically insane BEFORE allowing a tiny creature to take up shop in my womb. How awkward would that be?

Anywho, so I'm talking to myself in the car. Ya know, the classic, "you can do this," "you are a capable employee," "you won a dance competition at Summer camp back in 2003 AND you can belch like 2 grown men. This career stuff should be a piece of cake."

It seemed like it was working out. I was feeling back to my awesome self when the song on the radio changed.

To "Break My Stride" by Matthew Wilder.

Boom baby! This song is my jam! Don't know it? Let me sing a few measures for you:

Ain't nothing gonna break my stride,

No body gonna slow me down

Oh no!

I got to keep on movin'!

Hello Perfect Timing, and welcome to my car ride to school. I mean, amIright?

For the first line and a half I was using this song to motivate myself even further...

...until the waterfall started.

By "slow me down" I was in a metal vehicle of pure, raw, pregnant lady emotion.

And once it started it wouldn't stop. I bawled through the whole three minute song as if I had just witnessed some poor, defenseless baby seal being shoved into a wood chipper. (Too much on the visual?) Meanwhile, I continued to pathetically sing-mumble through the verses because I thought that if I sung along I might trick my brain back into understanding that this song is upbeat and happy, not an ode to seal homicide.

The song ended and I gradually gathered back my composure. By the time I got to work, only the tiniest hint of red still remained on my lower eyelids. My coworkers were none the wiser.

But I was scarred, torn, beaten. Matthew Wilder had broken me - a job once made famous by Michael Bolton. I have since recovered from this trauma and have yet to cry at any other non-Bolton ballads, but I shall never forget the day that I almost caused an accident from a music-induced meltdown.

Awe, memories.