Last night I had an old-fashioned bad dream. The kind that encompasses your entire night and causes you to wake up in the morning, drenched in your own sweat, gratefully repeating the words: Thank God it was only a dream.
I dreamt I was pregnant again. Not just pregnant again, I was going into labor.
This chilling little ditty was so terrifying, I’m convinced Stephen King was the author. Allow me to break it down for you…
Everything was the same, same life, same adorable little butterbean, I had my same devastatingly beautiful good looks, same hardcore to the core Boy Scout Lover fo’ Life, every detail was there.
I was unknowingly pregnant this whole time, since December to be exact. And because I was pregnant with Angry Baby for 8 months, guess what? It’s been 8 months since December and I was going into labor.
Just like one of those nutty episodes of “I didn’t know I was pregnant.” I went from one Angry Baby, to having an Angry Sibling on its way…in minutes.
In my nightmare, I was eerily calm about it. I just accepted my fate and just knew it would work out. Monumentally Blow Chunks? Absolutely. Would it all work out and be awesome, one day? Probably.
Like every lady in her life, “the pregnant nightmare” had haunted me a few times in my dreams in my teens and twenties. But so did tornadoes. The truth: I had a 5-year jag where I would dream about a tornado in some form or fashion AT LEAST 3x a week.
It’s funny how during the years we were trying to have a baby, every time I dreamt I was pregnant it was an AWESOME dream! I’d wake up on cloud 9 floating through my morning, dreaming of the idyllic day when my little cherub and I would traipse through sun-dappled meadows, the picture of happiness.
Those days are gone. Pregnancy is the new (old) bone-chilling nightmare to torture me by. My, how things have come full circle.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, Angry Baby and I have a meadow to skip through, and by skip through, I mean scream and kick at. Stupid morning dew drops!