I’ve always had relatively strange and vivid dreams, but I think these pregnancy hormones are really driving me crazy. Last night I had a dream about the birth of my little girl. I guess the dream came about because of the conversation Jay and I had had about who would be in the room while I was giving birth. Some other points of reference may be the conversation I recently had with a friend that saw the Beckhams at Disneyland last week, and the fact that Meatballs has been on cable five times a day for the past week.
The dream began with me sitting on the delivery chair, preparing to push a living being out from my lady parts. The first thing I noticed when looking up was Posh’s breasts. Her presence scared me a bit because I’ve always thought of her as someone resisting calls from the mother ship to return to her home planet. Standing beside her tiny frame was Tripper, who was sporadically spitting out lines from Meatballs and dancing that dance he dances in the dance scene. The third person in the room was my eighth grade history teacher, Mr. Spincola. Imagine a man a little more than five feet tall and with as much enthusiasm about being in the army reserve as Tom Cruise had when he was jumping on couches. The three seemed unaware of each other’s being there and focused instead on my vagina.
The presence of these three distracted me enough that the delivery seemed to pass quickly and easily. By this time Posh was still silent, eyes widened, standing there as if posing for a photo, Tripper was yelling “It just doesn’t matter!” and Mr. Spincola was yelling “Hoo-raa!”” They all stood there silently as the baby was handed to me, Posh still posing, Tripper still dancing, and Mr. Spincola now saluting me. I woke up just as Posh walked over and began to give me advice about breastfeeding.
This morning I woke up a told Jay that I thought it best to have just he and I in the room during the delivery. I wonder what a dream interpreter would tell me this all means.
