By Guest Blogger Eve Curley (@eveyandidotcom)
I wrote the below piece in November last year. Hubby and I had survived our first year of parenthood (we celebrated with an over-the-top princess party), I was enjoying being back in the workforce part-time and finally had my writing mojo back so thought I would pen something. I was going to come back to it as I felt something was missing…I just wasn’t sure what. I sat down to finish it a week later and my social media feeds went mad. There was an accident at the SCG and cricketer Phillip Hughes had been taken off the field injured. Shaking and unsettled with that surreal sense of adrenaline that pumps through your body when you first hear shocking news, I felt sick. Miss 12 months was sleeping and I went into her room, sat beside her cot and watched her breathe.
Heartbreakingly, as we all know, Phillip Hughes passed away. When the official Media Release appeared in my inbox later that week, it was final. I felt numb. I shook as I forwarded it on. I didn’t know Phillip personally, however many people I work closely with did. His parents I’m sure too would have celebrated his first Birthday all those years ago and his Mummy probably cried when he was born, soothed his tears when he lost a game of cricket, or joined in with tears of joy when he had success. It’s hard to find words, but I know my heart and gut ached in a different way to what it would have if this terrible tragedy had occurred prior to me becoming a Mummy.
Pre Phillip Hughes Tragedy
I recently became a parent. I also recently became really emotional (I blame some random hormone you just magically inherit after having a baby and becoming a Mummy). This emotion is to the extent that a Fergie song (yes, Big Girls Don’t Cry) made me burst into tears while driving to work recently and as for NEWS - like real-life world news - I'm a total wreck.
Cricket has been in my life for nearly a decade. I work in media, communications and spin (no not the Shane Warne kind nor the exercise kind, the PR kind). I’ve been amongst the highs and lows when my team has won cricket titles and lost them. I once cried when we lost a Final. I had an amazing headline ready to go, all ready for the tears of joy. FAIRYTALE ENDING FOR THE…oops delete! We lost. I considered it a tragedy. It was clearly NOT a tragedy, but at the time the team were huddled about crying and I’ll admit I shed a tear. I have cried over school results, and on my last day in the office before Maternity Leave I cried recording my out of office message. When I gave birth to my daughter I sobbed. While on Mat Leave I held a crying baby and sometimes I cried with her.
My job is exciting and I enjoy reading the news from back to front. Usually, the sport news is the soft news that is far easier to take, however last month I worked with our local newspaper to pull together a feature story. The story was a tribute to a former cricketer whose life was cut short by a heart condition. He was only 28. That afternoon I got in my car and BAWLED.
Cricket and the day-to-day press conferences seemed insignificant after that and I started thinking about the time I cried because we lost a game and felt really stupid. But should I? Sport is exciting for many. It is entertainment, it's an escape, a hobby and a profession! To the family of the player that passed it's actually now a really special time of the year. Sport (for some) is the soft news that we need in in our lives.
I’m not really sure I inherited a random hormone that makes me cry, it’s not like I didn’t have the odd teary before I had my daughter. I think it is called the MUMMY GUT and it takes new life, the fragility of life and the absolute joy parenthood brings to make us realise life is short and gives us some serious perspective when actual tragedy hits close to home.
The ‘Mummy Gut’ might be a little softer when you become a parent (inside and out), but we should all cry when we want to and not feel silly shedding a few tears over a cricket match or that reality TV show we love. Crying is a natural emotion in so many different environments sparked by different events that make us who we are.
Now to dissect the complexity of the TODDLER CRY. Or perhaps crying over spilt milk? Admit it we’ve all been there. Meh.
You can follow Eve on Instagram at @eveyandidotcom