Ever since I've can remember, I've had incredibly vivid, albeit weird and often disturbing, dreams while I sleep. I also tend to remember every detail of those weird dreams. John is both amazed and horrified by this ability at the same time. Sometimes they're so vivid, that I wake up angry or sad, or sometimes even crying.
Pregnancy has served to heighten this ability. My dreams are bat-shit crazy. I mean, cray-zay. Not too long ago, I had a dream that I cheated on John with the time-traveling ghost of John Ritter. WTF? Even I am laughing while writing this.
The dreams that I have about the baby can be the best or the most stressful, depending on what happens in them. About a month or so after my loss, I dreamed that I had a baby boy. I could smell his hair. Like, really smell it. And when he spit up, I could smell that too. I felt his weight when I held him and I actually felt his skin. When I woke up, I was equal parts happy and sad. Happy that I "met" my baby, but sad that that was the only way that I'd ever meet that one. Bittersweet, to say the least.
Lately, my baby dreams are about little Rambo. Often, I'll dream that I leave him someplace in his car seat (like at the old Acme that used to be at the Yorktowne shopping center, for example), or forget to feed him. In one dream, I was in a shitty hospital--old and dirty, and had just given birth. The nurses forgot about me for two days and, for the life of me, I couldn't figure out how to breastfeed. I was yelling, "Could someone teach me how to do this?!" When I woke up, I realized that if need be, I could figure that one out myself!
My favorite baby dreams are the ones that are calm. Where I can hold the baby and know that he is alright and feel how much I love him. And how very, very happy I am to have this blessing.
I also have been dreaming that I have a little girl lately. I'm not sure where this is coming from. I have no doubt that Rambo is a boy (and those of you that have seen the photographic ultrasound proof would agree). Maybe my subconscious is trying to tell me something?
Eh, probably not. If so, what the hell would it have been trying to tell me about my affair with the ghost of John Ritter?
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