The only thing beautiful about my dream last night was our baby’s birth at the end of it.
I dreamt that I had an early show and visited my American gynaecologist to tell her that I thought I was in labor. She doesn’t even know I’m pregnant by the way. I caught her on her way out the door (where from, I don’t know) and convinced her to overcome her scepticism and examine me. She did, and sure enough, our baby was on her way out. I wasn’t in any pain, but the next thing I knew she had me on an operating table and was performing a caesarean and then, poof, our tiny baby came into the world! I watched this scene removed from my own body, and when I looked back at myself on the operating table I was an old woman, cackling away and wrinkled. Then I woke up.
My brain must have been decompressing the advice I read earlier yesterday in What to Expect When You’re Expecting about how bizarre dreams are common in pregnancy. Always a sucker for weird suggestion, my subconscious jumped right on the bizarre dream bandwagon and churned this disturbing one out for me last night.
I hope I don’t have to have a caesarean so maybe that was my mind’s way of coming to terms that in labor, anything is possible? Maybe I have “latent fears” of delivering early in the wake of my rectal pressure incident this weekend? But how did I turn into a crazy old woman? Anyone else care to analyze?