I broke my scales today. Not the ones for weighing humans – I may have put on a bit of weight recently but that’s another story – but my kitchen scales.
They weren’t particularly special. Just some cheapo basic ones that I got for a fiver. Plain white, non digital, simple.
I hadn’t put them away properly and they decided to try their hand at kitchen parkour when I opened the cupboard. They hit the floor with a thud and a crack and were rendered useless.
This happened 2.5 minutes after cleaning up a jug of cream that I sent flying all over the counter top (or “bunker” if you’re a mad Scotsman like my Big Human) and formed a gorgeous puddle on the floor. Not the best start to my evening of panna cotta making.
I looked at my scales and just sat on the floor beside them. Poked them for a bit. Tried to adjust the dial. No luck.
I felt really sad. I didn’t cry but I did feel a bit bereft. Which was silly as they weren’t special. Okay so I’d had them for ages but they weren’t sentimentally valuable, any more than they were monetarily worth anything. As my Big Human pointed out, while probably trying to work out why I was on the floor, they had served me well and I had definitely gotten my money’s worth. (Ah. Appealing to my frugal side. He really does know how to sweet talk me)
After my Big Human sat with me for a bit, before he scooped me up and onto my feet again, I realised two things.
1) I am extremely lucky. Despite the unconventional beginning to our relationship, my Big Human is quite awesome. He was perfectly happy to just let me be sad. He was willing to sit with me, even if he didn’t really get it. He was also strong enough to pull us both up and carry on. (And reattempt the almost forgot and abandoned panna cotta.)
2) The other thing that hit me is that hormones are weird. This whole having a baby malarky really has had a drastic effect.
I mean obviously.
In some ways, you can get your head around the idea of having a small human entirely dependent on you for survival.
You can make peace with the numerous physical changes you go through.
You can just about cope with the sleep deprivation and the things it can do (anyone else tidied the coffee jar away into the washing machine instead of the cupboard? Just me?)
The bit I still struggle with is the huge shift in my emotions.
I have said it before, but I am honestly the most content I have been in years. Every now and then though, I find myself getting teary over virtually nothing. Pre-Daftie, the running joke was that I was dead inside. More specifically, I was like a Daim bar – soft on the outside, crunchy on the inside.
I don’t mind at all being a bit of a softie these days but it is weird finding myself getting glassy eyed at adverts on TV. I feel a wee prickle and a sniff listening to certain songs. I find myself blinking away tears over passages in books I’ve read before.
None of these are bad at all. Emotions are great and definitely worth sharing and expressing. These hormones just have to answer for!
Travels With My Daftie 
