I had a baby dream last night. It was a confused mess of a dream, as dreams often are, and involved odd bits of rushing to the hospital, trying to call people who should be called, wondering how things moved so fast — then so slow — then being caught up in irrelevancies and finding frustration and all those things. I’m not one to interpret dreams. Y’know, rational mind meets irrational mind has meaning. Not as such. I’m a little too realist these days for nonsense like that. The theme of the dream seemed to be lack of control. I’m not going to have any sort of control, I know that. I drive to the hospital with Karin in tow, a bag packed and in the trunk, a charged cell phone to call the parents and someone to look after the dog. I go to the right door and talk to the right people. I hand her off to the experts, and I get to tag along. Moral support. The back-rub expert, am I. The man with the iron fist which will be squeezed to the limit. The one who only feels pain because he can’t feel the pain. The guy who watches and who will need to remember it all to recount to the next guy, to pass along the story, to re-assure or frighten, whatever your pleasure. It was odd because when we went to our first pre-natal class the instructor asked if any of the guys had had baby dreams yet. Nope. Not then. A few of the guys had, but not me. Are your dreams your fears creeping to the surface? I didn’t think I was worried about that. It’s not like on television, they keep telling us. You know, and then you wait. You go for a walk and then talk about it: should we go to the hospital now? Not yet, lets wait a little longer. Then you load the car. You rub her back a little more. You unload the dishwasher and straighten the living room because you’re going to have a lot of company next time you are here. Then you go. No rush. No frantic drive. Perhaps early in the morning. Perhaps not. Who can say? So, what’s with the dream? Lack of control? I called a hundred times and the line was always busy. Irrational fear. Broken pause. Flight of the baby. When the date comes, we’ll see. |
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