My daughter enjoys gazing at herself in the mirror while she cries.
Yesterday she was mad at me for something-- making her wait to eat her "iceberries" until after dinner, maybe-- and in the middle of weeping piteously she abruptly stopped and said, "I wanna see in the mirror." We both got a good laugh and went into the living room to find the hand-held mirror, and I went back into the kitchen to finish dinner amid a chorus of "Oh hoo-hoo-hoo's" from the other room.
I love these moments when she seems to admit, with a sly smile and a laugh, that her crying is not always 100% authentic.
This may be a good place to admit that I totally get the indulgent pleasure of watching oneself cry. I've done it myself, most recently probably during my teen years, when drama was easy to come by and I hoped that anyone seeing me cry would be moved by my tragic beauty and possibly fall in love with me. I'm pretty sure that never happened, though.
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When I was little I used to think exactly the same thing about my tragic beauty where I would weep like Audrey Hepburn, just letting the tears magnify my big brown eyes and then spill down my cheek while I bravely fought to control them. The truth is, of course, that when I really cried I got splotchy, my lips turned down and my nose dripped.
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