Lately I’ve been having bizarre, highly detailed dreams. Clay comes into the bedroom to wake me up with a kiss before he leaves for work and I open my eyes and say things like,
”I dreamt we were living in a large, wooden house. But then we were invaded by Nazis. We escaped! To a Rocky’s game – except Raphael (who was a toddler) was crawling under the seats and trying to eat people’s popcorn. I kept grabbing him by the ankles and hissing, ‘if you don’t stop that the Nazis will find us!’ and then we went swimming.”
Clay is kind about my raving. He listens, and nods, and never accuses me of being insane. However, since I seem to be driven to share my…special dreaming insights with people, no fewer than three people have cocked their heads at me and asked, “Are you by any chance pregnant?”
NO, I say, no I am not.
Allow me to reiterate:
This is not “hmmm…COULD I be?”
This is No.
ALTHOUGH, I did have a dream wherein Clay and I had a baby – but we used a surrogate to carry the baby. Except the surrogate turned out to be a man. My mom was going to deliver the baby – in our garage – on top of a Tupperware container we have out there to store the boys’ off season clothing in. I kept asking her “How is this going to WORK? I mean, he’s a MAN.” Mom just dusted off the lid of the container, helped our nice laboring surrogate…dad…up on it, and rolled her eyes at me. “Don’t worry, it’ll be FINE.”
And it was! We had a gorgeous baby boy, and Clay and I were so happy that we decided to go on a road trip. I believe the dream ended with us deciding to take my van (clearly a dream delusion) and us saying, “Well then, let’s hose it out and go!”
The thing about dreams like this one is that they SEEM so real that they linger in my mind. No one needs that mess lingering in her mind, particularly when she’s got other things to figure out, like getting Max’s inhaler to school with him (DONE! I WIN AT MOTHERING!). All these profoundly irrational dreams persist in my thoughts, wisps of unreality that I don’t have time to sort out. And to make matters worse, I suspect the children smell weakness, and have decided to use it against me.
Tonight, as I half-heartedly cleared dishes from the supper table, I turned to see Max sneaking away from the last of his meal. I don’t care if he doesn’t want to finish his dinner, but he had specifically requested this food on his plate, and assured me he would most certainly perish before my eyes without it. So. I suggested he darn well hie himself back to the table and finish his food. He looked at me, eyes bright with the many thoughts behind them, and said in a vague sort of voice,
”Don’t worry, Mom. This is just a dream.”
I actually paused, looked at him hard, and thought about it for a moment. A torrent of giggles assured me it was not a dream, just my beloved middlest child messing with my head.
Dreams are odd but life? Life is very strange.