Apparently, that's what I do these days. I cry.
I cried about the whales.
*I cried at McNulty's funeral, though he was alive and laughing and sober. I cried with rage when Slimy Liarmouth Reporterface won a Pulitzer, and when Randy showed up all hard and overly muscular, and while I didn't cry when Omar and Bodie died, that was because I was in shock.
I cried when I went to walk through the doorway and instead walked into the wall.
And I cried when Toaster went off to Target with his birthday gift card to buy a game for his new DSI, but came back with no game. Nothing for himself at all, in fact. No, instead he spent his birthday gift card on a tiny little long sleeve footed onesie with smiling turtles on it, and itty bitty Winnie the Pooh newborn caps. Apparently, he spent the whole time he was at Target riffling through the baby section, searching for the perfect gift for Roo.
This last one I think is perfectly okay to cry about.
*I am now done with The Wire. Presumably I will be done crying about it shortly, too. I think I will move on to less violent and upsetting TV shows for the duration of the pregnancy.