I rarely remember my dreams, but I had a particularly vivid one last night.
In real life, my husband and I were at Rite-Aid yesterday to buy ear plugs for the Prince concert we were going to. (Which was awesome, by the way.) In my dream, we were back at Rite-Aid, but this time, we had to purchase a bottle for our newborn. Actually, the baby was born yesterday. (Gotta love the weirdness of dreams!) We spent lots of time looking at the various options trying to decide. Various bottle sizes, different tops, nipple types, ugh.
Once we had the bottle picked out, we then realized we needed other baby things. What about diapers? We go to the diaper aisle: just get one pack to start off. Don’t we need Desitin for diaper rash? Yes, get some get some!
And so on.
I then realized that I’ve never fed the new baby! And the baby is home all alone! Oh no!
So I race home and get to the nursery. The baby is in his (her?) crib, but there’s a big pillow over him. (Gasp!) I also notice the baby is lying on his stomach. (Gasp!) I urgently shove the pillow away and the baby stirs. He’s hot and sweaty from being under the pillow, but otherwise unhurt.
Then I feed him, conscious of ideal positioning to facilitate his taking the breast. He sucks urgently. And it all turns out fine.
* * * * *
I think the meaning is clear: I feel overwhelmed and unprepared for having a child, but I feel that everything will be OK in the end. I’ve been seeing updates on Facebook pretty constantly of my friends who are posting photos of their newborns, or chronicling their pregnancies and baby showers. It’s very much on the mind.
(These days, when is it not on the mind?)