About three years ago I read half of Freud’s book on dream
analysis on a flight from Trinidad to Orlando. Clearly that makes me an expert in the field. Now that I am almost
six months pregnant I have had to cut back of caffeine and therefore my daily
double dose of latte. I’ve picked up some new vices like having Frosted Mini
Wheats and Cheerios for dinner. People always say that eating right before bed
will give you weird dreams, not to mention pregnancy itself. Last nights dinner
involved chicken noodle soup followed by a tiny bowl of cheerios. Honey nut, to
be specific. My pairing of choice was an episode of Seinfeld. It just so
happened to be the episode where George recommends the name “Soda” to an
expecting couple and informs Susan that their future child would be named
“Seven.”
Choosing baby names can be a difficult task. I’ve had a girl name
picked out for over five years but all boys names just seem so boring and
uninventive to me. Since I don’t know the sex of my baby and won’t until D-day,
I’m plagued with the reality that I might in fact have a boy! And then
what?! I read the baby name book
of 100,000 names cover to cover and nothing. And then I had a dream….
I gave birth to a perfect, tiny baby boy with a full head of
dark brown hair. No name. Segue into an immediate outdoor barbeque where everyone
was dressed in cocktail party attire including my dear friends Kourtney
Kardashian, Taraji P Henson and Gabrielle Union. My new baby, who had not cried or woken up since birth (11
hours ago now according to my watch) sat at my feet in his car seat. I asked my mother if I should wake him
to feed him. She advised that I allow him to sleep until he was hungry and he
would eventually awake. It began to rain and the car seat filled with water
submerging my new baby. When I eventually remembered, shit, I now have a child,
I looked down to see him all wrinkly totally under water. A voice from the side
says, don’t worry they still have gills at birth. What a wonderful point. Maybe
if I allow him to live partly under water and partly above water he would be an
amphibian and always be safe in and out of the water. There I sat at my
designated table at this cocktail party barbeque with the baby name book in
front me. Kourtney is now glaring at me with her troops around her waiting to
find out what this baby’s name is. It comes to me!
I haven’t heard this name
since my mother last mentioned her childhood golden retriever. So yes, it once
belonged to a dog but it is actually a human name. I won’t reveal it just in
case my husband is flexible enough to let me use it! I then became aware that
I’d like to get out of this dress, so Taraji, the girls and I, went to change.
I unzipped the front zipper of my dress to see that dreaded line down the
center of my stomach only to realize it was an imprint of the zipper and my
pre-pregnancy stomach was back! Happily the dream ended there. So, what does
this all mean? Will I be a bad mother and forget my baby in his/her carseat?
Will I name my baby after a deceased dog? Will Kourtney K finally realize that
we are kindred spirits? Will my pre baby body resurface 11 hours after
delivery?
Freud’s explanation is something to the effect that your
thoughts and various happenings of the day are all bouncing around in your
subconscious. Sometimes in REM sleep they become crossed and you end up kissing
your dad (how very Freudian) or falling for that neighbor you hate. So, not to
worry. Here’s how I think my signals got crossed.
My best friend is planning a wedding and stressing over
table numbers. This would explain the fancy attire and assigned seats for the barbecue.
Kourtney K has managed to choose cute and unique names for
her kids, unlike her younger sister Kim K. This would explain her glaring at me
demanding I name this child and it better be good!
My mom came up with the one and only boy name that I
approved of but it has since been reconsidered. This would explain the need to
pay homage to her childhood dog. The uniqueness of said name can be chalked up
to George Costanza.
The zipper line on my stomach would account for my fear of
that horrid “linea negra” that pregnant women get.
I’m not sure why my baby was part fish part human and
submerged in his car seat. Maybe the liquid from the soup and milk from my
cheerios was sloshing around him/her in my belly all night. Maybe I need to
finish Freud’s book.
So tomorrow, I’ll forgo my daily dose of cereal…
….and have a latte.
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