Pregnancy dreams are vivid. I clearly remember the ones I had when I was pregnant with Norah. This time around I’ve had three so far. The first two were about precipitous and early births. They were uncomplicated. Only Scott was present.
The third. I was in a strange hospital. Scott was not there. My mom and some random former co-workers (in great number) were there. Dr. Polo Shirt attended. I woke (in the dream) holding a baby boy with a huge head. He weighed 6lbs 2oz. Mom told me my heart had stopped beating while I was pushing. Dr. Polo Shirt said it was no big deal, he got it going again. I asked if I had torn. Nope. I asked what position I pushed in–then said, “Nevermind, you could have put me in McRoberts and I don’t care as long as my perineum stayed intact.”
Then baby was passed around to the twelve million former co-workers. Then a nurse tried to take him for “3 hours of very important procedures.” Thus ensued a tug-of-war with the baby. I won. And I ran out of the hospital and boarded a train. All the while, I’m making big open mouth faces to encourage the huge-headed baby to latch properly.
I will say again: Lord, deliver me from hospital births. I would be an awful patient. And I think Scott would tangle with somebody.