It’s early AM, my kids are sleeping, and I should be doing something productive, but I’m here writing instead.
I had two wicked dreams last night. Maybe the Halloween thing? Well, I’m going to lay them out here and you can read them and think, “Wow, she’s really shallow / nuts / weird” or what-have-you.
In my first dream I was birthing another baby, here at home – in fact in the same room Nels was born in (what is now my sewing room). My husband and family were home but it was late at night so I was just kinda goin’ it solo for a bit (I had it under control). When the baby crowned I called out to Ralph to wake up and come help – it occurred to me perhaps I would need assistance if the head got stuck. It didn’t, though; and even as Ralph came downstairs the baby slid out into my arms (I was squatting), wet and dark. Ralph burst into the room and saw his third child for the first time. I thought to myself, “OK, hospital birth first time; home birth the second – unattended birth?! I am going too far! … Oh well.” Or something along those lines.
The thing that struck me about this dream was how real it seemed. The sensation of crowning and the mild state of disbelief you are in when you realize all your hard work is almost done, and the baby is almost here – it was so real, so familiar, so wonderful. I wish I could have a birth dream every now and then to remind myself.
If you’re asking yourself, “Does this mean Hogaboom Child #3 is a possibility?” my answer is still, “No way.” With a lot of expletives attached.
My second dream was unpleasant. As I type this, a child is on my lap, so I’ll be brief – a small horde of my peers, judging, persecuting me. Relentlessly. I haven’t had anything along the lines of this sort of Carrie experience in my life nor dreamed about it in a long time, either. A new bloom of personal insecurity on the way? Or a perfectly normal bout of “everybody hates me” paranoia? You make the call.
