Yesterday I laid Eloise down on our bed so that I could get some stuff done around the house. I turned on the radio to keep her company (Smooth FM - formerly Saga FM, the old people's station). The song All I Have to do is Dream by the Everly Brothers was playing. So instead of doing my chores, I did an impromptu dance for my child as she stared at me wide eyed and curious.
I used to dance to songs all the time when I was a kid - a pastime that was made all the more entertaining if I had an audience. At one of my birthday parties I once made all my friends sit in my room and watch me dance and lip-synch to the soundtrack of Stand By Me. And I cannot tell you how excited I am to have a stationary audience in Eloise. And how much more excited I am at the idea that one day she'll dance with me. And even more excited that one day I will do an impromptu dance in front of her and her surly teenage friends and make her die of embarrassment.
But I digress. The song All I Have to do is Dream reminded me of a blog post I had swirling around my head last week that I plum forgot to write. All about the pathetically literal state of my dreams.
Once I found out I was pregnant, I was pregnant in all my dreams. This was fine in the earlier stages, when I was naive and enjoying the state of being knocked up. Towards the end, when I was huge and miserable, waking up oh so many times in the night, I would have loved to have been able to close my eyes and imagine myself unburdened by the growing life inside me, long and slender (hey. It's a dream) and free. Instead my subconscious refused to give me even a mental respite from my physical state. Every dream I had I was pregnant in. Lumbering around in my dream world, just as unable to bend over and tie my shoes as in reality. Even in my sex dreams I was apologizing for my protruding belly, or if they baby accidentally kicked my lover and ruined the moment.
And then I had a baby, and I was excited that the pregnancy dreams would be over, and I could go back to normal. One would think. But no. Not little miss unimaginative subconscious. My first sex dream after having Eloise? I broke away from the passionate kissing to warn the guy to be careful of my stitches and to ignore the bleeding. Hot, huh?
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