An Ode to Pregnancy Meltdowns

So there we were, husband and I, driving along the Hana Highway in our rented convertible with the top down. We had everything we needed for a perfect cruise of the road to Hana: picnic lunch--check; sunscreen--check; sunglasses--check; tasty snacks and beverages for the road--check; CD guide with lots of historical and geological information about the area that I had researched thoroughly to make sure we got just the right one--check.

We're driving along and I go to put the CD in the player. It seems to not want to go in, so I take it out, slightly frustrated, and try again. This time the CD goes in. Except it's not all the way in. I can see its edge poking out the insert slot. Of course, it's not out enough to grab and try again. And it's not in enough to play. The radio display reads "MECHANICAL ERROR." No kidding.

So, what is the logical reaction? To cry of course. And struggle to make the radio do something, anything. No luck. Struggle, struggle, struggle, cry, cry, cry. Husband pulls the car over to help on the side of the highway. The tears are pouring out now, and I'm breathing that can't-catch-your-breath-because-you're-crying-too-hard sob, and poor husband is looking at me like I am total psycho (at this point, it's not far from the truth), and he's trying to calm me down, while at the same time trying to either push the CD in or pull it out. All to no avail.

Again, what is the logical response? To continue wailing and hit the door of the car? Well, I certainly thought so. Just as I had finished my physical assault on the car door, what happens? The CD pops out? Not exactly.

I look to my left, and there are the Maui police, looking at me and asking if everything is ok. Oh my gosh. It's like I could finally see myself for the crazed woman I'd become, and I was mortified. The tears continued as I attempted to assure the policemen that yes, in fact, I was ok, no, my husband was not assaulting me, and I was simply having a pregnant meltdown and was overreacting to the fullest degree of overreaction. I have never been more appalled and mortified by my own behavior, and honestly, in the moment, I had not even been aware of what a monster I'd turned into.

After the police left (not often I have to say that), the husband used his Swiss army knife to retrieve the CD and reload it. It worked like a charm.

Sigh.