I had a strange dream last night that I woke up in the middle of the night realizing two horrifying things: 1. I was pregnant. 2. I was in labor.

These two things were pretty shocking to me, so I leaned over to wake Billy up to let him know what was going on. He was a little groggy, but together we figured out that we should probably be timing how far apart contractions were. (We are geniuses.)

This went on for some time, and all was ok, really. I even went back to sleep (in my dream, of course). But then I woke up in a sweat because I realized, SHIT. BILLY. This baby doesn’t have a name! What are we going to do when we have to fill out the birth certificate???

He just sort of mumbled something to me, and so I suggested the first name that came into my head: Sara. He rolled over and said something like, “Yeah, whatever.” So I decided then she would be Sara Michele. I was going to ask Billy what he thought of Michele as a middle name, but given his interest to that point, I decided it wasn’t worth it.

So I went back to sleep (again) amidst frequent contractions (dreams are so real sometimes) and then my water broke. And I sat straight up and was like, HOLY SHIT. BILLY. My water broke. This is not a dream!

And he didn’t even mumble anything back to me that time.

But then the strangest thing happened (because the rest of the dream was not strange, no). The contractions stopped. Everything just stopped. It was like I’d just dreamed the whole damn thing. I called my mom on the phone to tell her what happened, and she just said, “yeah, that happens sometimes. Don’t worry about it.”

And I was like, huh? Happens sometimes? What?

Never did have the baby. It just sort of sat, still-like in my belly and no one seemed to care but me.

This was one of those restless, inescapable dreams that lasted the whole night. Every time in my dream I woke up to check the time to see how far apart my contractions were, I woke up in real life, looking at the clock. It was fucking annoying.

I wonder what it is inside me that’s trying so hard to get out. It better not be a real baby, is all I’m saying.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: