Managing Meltdowns

We are into month 9.  Yikes.

So I have been meaning to write a post on managing meltdowns for quite a while now.  That said, a combination of anticipating future meltdowns and being breathtakingly lazy prevented it from getting done.  Sitting on a plane flying back from Austin, I decided it was time to write yet another post that utilizes high-grade sarcasm to disguise a complete lack of appreciation for the heavy burden my wife is bearing in order to ensure the continuation of my family name.

Before I get into this, I must admit that since the first trimester, there have been very few meltdowns.  This does not please me.  We were promised the following emotional states during the pregnancy:

• First Trimester: Hurricane
• Second Trimester: All’s clear
• Third Trimester: By “all’s clear”, I meant “eye of the storm.”  Now we’re [past tense version of the most versatile word in the English language that I am really trying to stop saying before Matthew is born].

This is not what was delivered.  Instead, we had:

• First Trimester: Hurricane
• Second Trimester: All’s clear
• Third Trimester: No, seriously, all’s clear.  Except for the breathing problems.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m very happy that she is so happy.  I also like that the Matthew and humidity derived breathing issues are not preventing the housework and meal preparation from getting done.  But you have to understand that there is a certain level of disappointment on my end that the astonishing level of unintentional humor has absolutely plummeted since she suddenly unpacked her hormone-fueled emotional baggage around Week 14.

But I digress.  When it comes to managing meltdowns, there are three things to keep in mind:

• Stay clam
• Don’t laugh
• When she challenges you to a game of Irrational Weep n’ Scream, just let her win

The best example I can provide of managing a meltdown occurred somewhere in the Week 8-12 range.  Before heading to class one morning, the at that time quite small lady and I ventured to Evanston City Hall to contest a parking ticket we had received despite the fact that she had seemingly followed the protocol she had been told to follow to ensure our car was registered to legally park in front of our apartment.  Since I didn’t have anything to do with buying the permits and other administrative blah blah, I basically just went to provide emotional support.  We may have actually already blogged about the ticket a while back—I don’t remember, and frankly, I have zero interest in reading through the entire blog in an effort to save you, the non-paying reader, from having to follow two lines of a possibly regurgitated story.  Anywho, the conversation went something like this:

Exhausted, Always Nauseous First Trimester Pregnant Lady: [Thoughtful, 45 Second Explanation of Why City of Evanston Must Be Mistaken]

Evanston City Hall Worker: “No.”

Exhausted, Always Nauseous First Trimester Pregnant Lady: [Less Thoughtful, More Emotional Explanation of Why She Did Nothing Wrong]

Evanston City Hall Worker: “You’re wrong.”

Exhausted, Always Nauseous and Now Noticeably Angry First Trimester Pregnant Lady: “So what can I do to appeal this?”

Evanston City Hall Worker: “You can have a hearing in two weeks.  But you will need to pay $125 for a new permit immediately.”

Exhausted, Always Nauseous, Noticeably Angry and Starting To Cry First Trimester Pregnant Lady: “This is [naughty word]!  We don’t have any [naughty word] money!”

Exhausted, Always Nauseous, Now Fully Enraged and Crying First Trimester Pregnant Lady exits scene.  She can be seen walking out of the room and collapsing in an enraged, tearful heap on a bench in the hallway.

Exhausted, Always Nauseous, Now Fully Enraged and Crying, No Longer In The Room First Trimester Pregnant Lady’s Sexy In A Smoldering Way Husband: [Stares blankly at the Evanston City Worker].

Evanston City Worker: [Stares blankly at Exhausted, Always Nauseous, Now Fully Enraged and Crying, No Longer In The Room First Trimester Pregnant Lady’s Sexy In A Smoldering Way Husband].

Exhausted, Always Nauseous, Now Fully Enraged and Crying, No Longer In The Room First Trimester Pregnant Lady’s Sexy In A Smoldering Way Husband: “Look, I’m jobless while in grad school and my wife is both pregnant and building a business.  We are really tight on cash and she really did do everything we were told to do by the City.  Someone misled her and now we have a new permit to buy and a ticket to pay.  She really is a swell person in most instances.  Is there any chance you can waive the ticket or permit fee?”

Evanston City Worker: “No.”  [Thoughtful pause and sympathetic look.]  “But I can give you a discount.”

Exhausted, Always Nauseous, Now Fully Enraged and Crying, No Longer In The Room First Trimester Pregnant Lady’s Sexy In A Smoldering Way Husband: “Thank you.”

The Smoldering Husband finds his wife, consoles her and drives her home.

You may now be wondering what exactly I did to manage the meltdown.  My response to you is to hold your freaking horses.  We haven’t gotten to the meltdown yet.  Seriously.  I’m just painting the picture for you.

Needless to say, My Little Pumpkin Pie was still nice and angry when we got home.  We actually hadn’t planned on going home after City Hall; we were going to head straight to the grocery store.  However, she forgot the shopping list at home. (See: Pregnancy Brain, which actually is pretty much gone now, but was in full force at the time.)  Parking at our apartment was often a hassle—it was not uncommon to have to park a block away.  Given that we would be at home for less than 30 seconds, we decided to park in a spot behind our building so we could quickly run up to the apartment and then leave.  We had done this before and it had never been a problem, although it was technically illegal since we did not pay to have a parking space.  I had to go to the potty bathroom so I also went upstairs.

Two minutes later, we return to the parking spot to see our car is gone.  I would like to congratulate the tow truck driver who somehow followed us into the lot, checked our car for a permit and towed it out of the lot in under two minutes (seriously, it was two minutes—I have no Earthly idea how he pulled it off.)  He is incredibly skilled at what he does.

We go back upstairs.  E is fuming, but not crying.  I call the tow truck company and find out that the car:

1. Is going to be impounded 40 minutes away in Chicago
2. Will cost $195 to retrieve

E is continuing to fume and now beginning to sound like longshoreman, but still not crying.

I call Schneider and ask if I can borrow his car at lunch time (it’s about 9:00 in the morning at the time) to go get our car.  Just as he begins to answer, E, who is in the following room, says:

“Oh my gosh, I left my purse in the car.”

Actually, instead of a period, there probably should be an exclamation mark or seventeen at the end of that statement.  And it should probably be in all-caps, bold, italic, underlined 88-point font.  She didn’t so much say it as she did maniacally wail it.  In retrospect, given that:

1. She was exploding into a ball of boiling tears and hot mess as she said it
2. I was down the hall and in the kitchen while she was in the living room

it’s incredible I could understand what she said.  I have always said I was attracted to her elocution abilities.  Regardless, it’s was officially go time.

Mike, Still On Phone With Schneider: “I’m going to have to call you back.”

Schneider: [Terrified silence.]

Schneider: [Tries, and fails, to coolly give the impression he couldn’t hear what he could only guess was E’s reaction to seeing the Sun explode.]  “OK.”

I walk into the living room, where I proceed to tell her in firm and no uncertain terms that her behavior is inappropriate while I am talking on the phone.  And that’s how you manage a meltdown.

Or not.  What I really did upon entering the living room was:

1. Found E on her knees, with her head on the ground, sobbing uncontrollably and approaching hyperventilation.
2. Immediately smiled and thought, “My goodness is she:
1. Cute
2. Lovable
3. Trying so hard to own this pregnancy
4. Having a really, really, really bad day.”
3. Immediately stopped smiling just in case she looked up and saw me smiling.  Her inevitably misinterpreting my facial expression would not have ended well for me.
4. Very calmly explained that the car was locked, we had the keys and it was a federal offense for the tow company to break into our car.  Ipso facto, the purse was fine, her wallet would not be compromised and, just as long the Sun had not actually exploded, everything was going to be OK.

Almost instantly, her weeping lost about 80% of its intensity.  She has always been a sucker for words of compassion that include sound legal reasoning.  However, she was still basically hyperventilating.  Fortunately, that was nothing that me getting down on my knees next to her, wrapping her up in a bear hug, kissing her head repeatedly and telling her that:

1. Today has really, really sucked
2. I loved her very much

couldn’t cure.  Well, that and making her macaroni and cheese for lunch couldn’t cure.  Man oh man do we love macaroni and cheese for lunch.

So there you go.  Managing Meltdowns 101.  Love, patience, compassion and macaroni and cheese.  The keys to a happy marriage.