A dream is a dream...

Things move faster after the 20-week mark. Here I am at 24, the long-awaited glucose test in the offing at my next regular appointment and six whole weeks since we found out we’re growing us a she-baby. Re: that glucose test ... I’ve been told there are now flavor options. I’m going to choose based on which one might be the least offensive on its way back up. Lemon-lime, I’m told. And, by a nurse with wide-eyed earnestness: Stay away from the cola-flavored one. You don’t have to tell me twice.

The weird pregnancy dreams have hit hard lately. I was waiting—I remembered them, vivid and startling and technicolored, from my first pregnancy and have actually been looking forward to the nightly entertainment. (Broken only by the bladder-determined intermissions; there are now always at least three trips to the bathroom between 10 p.m. and 5 a.m.) Last night I dreamed that we lost the chainsaw we’d planned on using for our home Cesarean section. We were really very upset by the missing chainsaw/surgical implement. And so we ended up at the hospital against our collective will, and suddenly I was stuck in an elevator with a former boss of mine and SHE was going to deliver the baby. I kicked her in the nose. On purpose. And God help me, it felt good. (If you’re reading this and are a former boss of mine, it’s not you, I almost promise.)

I’ve also had several dreams in which I am wandering half-clothed or inappropriately so (i.e. wearing the threadbare, too-short, polka-dotted nightshirt Steven "lovingly" refers to as my hospital gown) in public places: my old office building, a ritzy hotel, some sort of museum. I’m lost, more often than not, or at least confused about why I’m heading wherever I’m heading. Sometimes there is a baby to find. Once, I acknowledged to a passerby who asked the whereabouts of my baby that she was at home being looked after by her 5-year-old brother. Yikes!

Steven and I did once leave Alex in the car, but only for a few steps before we caught ourselves, mind you, and he was such a new development—surely other people occasionally forget they suddenly have babies. I don’t worry about that so much, this time. And whether or not the dreams mean anything, they are fun. I’m a fan of a good nightmare. I blame early exposure (and instant attachment) to Stephen King. So I’ll enjoy them, until and if I have that one where my teeth fall out of my mouth. That one creeps me out but good.