Dream of a Delivery

My brother Matt thinks that I should be recording this experience. He also thinks that the White Sox will have a better season than the Cubs this year, that he voted for the right guy and that The Manchurian Candidate was a good movie. So while it is clear that his judgement sometimes fails him, he's probably right on target this time. I'll want to remember this stuff. The making fun of my brother is an added bonus.

I'll be 11 weeks pregnant tomorrow. 29 weeks away from birthing the first baby to join our extended family in 13 years. We're all very excited. My best friend's daughter Jillian may be the most excited of all. Every time I talk to her, (usually daily,) she asks me "...how's the baby going?" Which causes me to melt and then steal blog titles from her innocent lips.

When I'm not melting or stealing, you can find me moaning about how nauseated I am, eating, or sleeping. Sleeping is my favorite, though it has given way to the newest of my pregnancy symptoms- the crazy ass dreams.

Last night I dreamed that it was time for the baby to be born, so I was rushed to the operating room by my gramp and my best friend so that they could perform a cesarean section. My uterus was easily removed, and a beautiful baby boy was placed in my arms. He immediately began talking, telling me that he thought we should call him Marco. While I held him, my gramp informed me that they were having trouble placing my uterus back inside my body and that I would need to do it myself. I did, although we were forced to cut some vines that began growing out of the cut on my belly.

Yeah. My gramp is 82, my best friend is a personal trainer and I don't even like the name Marco.

I should really stop reading birth stories before I fall asleep.