I’m used to crying. Mad crying when I say it’s time to get dressed, go to bed, use the toilet in the house instead of the bamboo in the backyard.
I’m used to crying. Painful crying when someone topples off the stool, belly flops on the hardwood floor, flips backward off the bed.
I’m used to crying. Sad crying when baby spends the night at the car repair shop, dessert is canceled, the picture is ruined.
I’m used to crying. Just not the broken-hearted, my-best-friend’s-moving kind.