Also, I've had a number of dreams about the baby being born. There's three that I remember particularly well.
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Our baby girl has been born; Stephen and I are brand new parents. We want to go to the temple. We'll only be gone a few hours. The baby will be fine by herself, right?
The temple's not super far away but when I get there, it hits me that it's really not ok to leave a tiny newborn by herself. I drop Stephen off and turn around. Driving home takes me through old-time London-esque street corners with gas lamps and I have to get out to walk through an Indian bazaar.
When I finally get home, Stephen and some of our friends are hanging out around the kitchen table drinking sparkling grape juice or something, having some sort of party. I'm mystified that he got home before me but start to get involved in the party when I remember why I came home.
What did I do with my baby girl?
Oh yeah. In the drawer. ??!! What was I thinking? I rush into the bedroom and pull her out of a drawer filled with white gauze. She's very unhappy but otherwise ok.
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I'm sitting in some kind of waiting area - lots of blue padded chairs and a receptionist sitting behind a bowl of candy.
My belly starts to jiggle and bounce. Baby's moving. The movement gets more and more forceful and my belly starts to give way, like play-dough. The baby keeps trying to dig her way out of my play-dough belly and I keep folding it back over her. I'm not ready for her to come out; I haven't even had the chance to call my doctor.
She wins; hands, head, and then feet erupt from my belly. She's an extremely large child, probably the size of a one-year-old. I immediately mourn for all the cute clothes folded in my bedroom that she will never be small enough to wear. I call my doctor to report the birth and she seems surprised but not too concerned.
At this point, I'm pretty sure I'm dreaming. I really want it to be a dream; I really want my baby to be able to wear the clothes I have for her. Plus, since when do babies start out the size of a one-year-old?
The dream continues. I take her home and she just keeps growing. Pretty soon, she's the size of a 3-year-old, talking in full sentences and arguing with whatever I tell her. Again, I'm thinking, "Please let this be a dream - this child shouldn't be able to be so bratty so quickly".
By the time I'm halfway through a shopping trip and am pulling her out from behind a rack of winter coats trying to get her to let go of them, I've kind of given up on the idea that I'm dreaming. This life must be real...it just keeps going...
The shopping trip continues...
Finally, I wake up. A wave of relief floods over me. I knew it was a dream.
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I'm at my semiweekly doctors appointment. The doctor pulls the baby out of my belly (I don't remember how) to check to see if he's healthy (in this dream, the baby is a boy).
He seems quite healthy. I know I haven't carried him full term yet, but I just think, "why bother to put him back in, he seems like he's fine out here."
My doctor must have been sympathetic because I took him home. My whole family and some friends were there and I was showing off my baby.
As I was sitting in a chair by the fireplace, I start to feel him slip out of my arms. There's nothing I can do. My brother Ryan's sitting near me and I beg him to catch the baby. I watch him comprehend and then lunge for the baby but it's too late, the baby has hit the edge of the fireplace behind me.
I quickly pick up my child and rush back to the doctor. There's a huge gash across his back and my doctor immediately starts stitching it up. It has to be stitched up before she can put him back inside of me.
36 Weeks
I just take comfort in the fact that I can't possibly be a worse mom in real life than I am in my dreams.
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