Pregnant women have some wild dreams. I’ve given birth to puppies, kittens, baby snakes, and a grown man. I’ve laid eggs; and then I’ve accidentally scrambled eggs. I usually wake up feeling so disturbed and upset that I just can’t function right for the better part of the morning–I don’t easily shake bad dreams. Last night, I had the worst one yet:
Caleb and I were staying at the beach. I was 9 months pregnant and Caleb and I had spent the day apart. I left our sweet condo to go look for him, and I found him down at Bamboo Willie’s, one of our old favorite hangouts, eating raw oysters with a big bunch of people that I didn’t know. They all started to make fun of me so I left to go look for some seashells. I found some wicked cool ones and went to show Caleb at the bar. He got all mad at me and said that it was illegal to pick seashells if I wasn’t going to eat what was inside. I looked down and realized that there was some slimy pink mollusky-alien-creature coming out of one of the shells and it was munching on my hand, crunching my bones…and everything. I threw the shell on the ground and the slimy thing died. Then Caleb forced me to sit down and eat the rest of the gross shell-babies. People started crowding around me and making fun of me, Caleb included. I started crying. Then I peed my pants. I threw a fit like a little kid and refused to eat anything. Caleb was being so mean. Then they all left, and I was alone on the beach with a stupid bunch of shells.
Damn that Caleb. Damn him for being such a jerk. Damn him for ditching me to hang out with meanies. Damn him most of all for not eating the aliens for me, so that I could legally keep those beautiful seashells.
If I’m not having funky dreams, than I’m not asleep. I just can’t seem to get comfortable. My belly feels like it’s about to explode. I feel like I’m already lugging around a 10-pounder…like I’m 9 months pregnant instead of 5. Maybe this is typical of a third pregnancy, maybe I’m just an ultra-sensitive pansy. I hog the entire bed and steal all the covers…and the pillows. I prop myself up from all angles, I toss and turn all night long, and I get up to pee every hour on the hour. Caleb snores right through it all; damn him for that, too.
But this morning, despite my nightmare and my constant struggle to stay asleep, I felt more rested than I have in months. I’ve noticed a pattern this past week–today it actually hit me. Everyday I get to sleep in while Caleb gets Cheyenne out the door. He starts the coffee and works quietly in his office. I wake up sometime later all snuggled up to a pile of pillows strategically placed where his body was laying all night long. I asked him if he was trying to make sure I didn’t fall out of bed. He smiled sheepishly and said, "Well, I know you sleep better when I’m beside you."
I guess I can forgive him for the seashell incident now.