I’ve read in several places that as pregnancy progresses, it’s very common to have a steady stream of sometimes bizarre, baby-related dreams. I have my standard dreams that come up every once in a while (and have since before Andy and I were even considering having kids). It usually involves me becoming aware of the fact that I gave birth to a baby several days, weeks, or months earlier, and then further becoming aware that I have misplaced said baby, as I realize that I haven’t seen him or her since we got back from the hospital. Sometimes, instead of having misplaced the baby, I’ll become aware of the fact that the baby is about 11 months old and I don’t have any recollection of ever having fed him. I will say something to Andy like, “Have either of us been feeding this baby that we apparently have?,” and Andy will respond with something like, “Yeah, I left him a bowl of split pea soup like a week ago. I didn’t see him eat it, but the soup is gone so I’m sure he’s fine.” I’ve actually had fewer of these dreams since becoming knocked up, which I suppose is a good sign. I guess I’m no longer concerned that I’ll be caught off guard by the arrival of a baby, since I’ve peed on a stick and seen pictures of his skull and feel him kicking me in the ribs right this second.
As my own pregnancy has progressed, I’ve mostly had a stream of bizarre, work-related stress dreams, but occasionally the fact that I’m pregnant will factor in. Last night’s finally tipped the scale to be pregnancy-related with a dash of work, and I’ll share it with you, because you look like the kind of person who wants to get a better view of the inner-workings of my brain.
My place of employment had acquired Walt Disney World’s “Hall of Presidents” for the summer, which I was of course quite excited about. As I was shutting down the attraction for the day, Animatronic William Henry Harrison calls me over to his robot death bed, and puts his hands on my belly. He says, “I want you to know that my child is going to be healthy. . . Actually, I don’t know if he’s going to make it, but you’ll survive the birth, and that’s the important thing.” It’s worth noting that, since I don’t know what William Henry Harrison looks like off the top of my head, he instead looked like Caesar Rodney, Continental Congressman from Delaware and signer of the Declaration of Independence. You’re probably wondering: What kind of nerd knows off the top of their head what Caesar Rodney looks like, but not President William Henry Harrison? I don’t know the answer to this question, but it’s been plaguing me all morning. The robot ghost of President Harrison went on to give me some other words of wisdom, but I wasn’t really listening. He was definitely trying to tell me that I should name the child after him, and while I like both the names William and Henry, I don’t particularly want to name the baby after a man who died because he refused to wear a coat while giving the longest inaugural address in American history. I was also busy trying to decide whether or not he needed to be told that the child wasn’t actually his. (I decided against it; why cause him grief on his robot death bed?) As the attraction shut down and his candle went out, and the work lights came on, Animatronic William Henry Harrison was swallowed back into the floor from whence he came. And Animatronic George Washington briefly hit on me on my way out the door.
So that’s what my brain’s up to these days. How’s your brain? Wait, I just noticed a new “Add Poll” feature on this blog template. Please vote below.