Thursday, September 2, 2010

We'll call him Sam

I had a dream last night.

In it, I was nine months pregnant and in the throws of advanced labour.  I was alone in a bright, clean hospital room, and I could hear nurses and activity beyond my closed door.  I was wearing a hospital gown and I could feel my baby moving inside me when I put my hand on my stomach.

I moved off the bed because I was laying in a horizontal position, and I felt that my labour would last too long for me to bear if I didn't give it some help with gravity.  So I began to walk around the bed to the door, when I felt an enormous gush between my legs and my waters broke.  I launched myself forward and grabbed the nurses' buzzer to let them know what had happened, when my husband walked in and saw me squatting in a pool of pale yellow, almost clear, liquid.  A nurse finally arrived and sought the help of an orderly to clean up the mess, and I was moved back to the other side of the bed.

My husband and I were left alone, and I squatted down to see what he was up to on the floor (looked like he was making a shopping list on a cell phone), when I put a hand between my legs and felt the baby crowning.  Suddenly, my body took over and I pushed, once.  A small, slimy baby emerged from me and I pulled him up to my now naked chest to keep him warm.  I told my husband to help me hold him, and then I pushed the nurses' buzzer again three times.  Then I looked at my baby.  He was very small, like Little O was, but he had masses of dark hair and the biggest, bluest eyes.  He was very alert and kept looking around the room at all the bright lights.

The umbilical cord was still attached, but when the nurse came in she suggested we allow it to finish pulsing before clamping it, to allow all that precious oxygenated blood to flow into my new son's bloodstream.  He didn't cry, but was breathing and very happy.  Eventually someone took the baby from me and laid him on the bed, at which point I stood up and promptly delivered a very slimy placenta.  And lots of other goo and blood.

The next thing I knew we were at home, and I was introducing our new child to Little O.  Little O was the age he is now, even though I had been 'pregnant' for nine months.  I spent some time barking at my husband to get Little O's old newborn clothes out of storage, and then we dressed the baby in a blue sleepsuit with a hood attached.  We had to decide on a name, so I looked at our bookshelf for inspiration and finally settled on Sam.  Sam - from Samuel.


A friend from childhood sent me a Facebook message the other day telling me she'd had her own dream where I was pregnant.  Five months pregnant, apparently, and showing her my ultrasound video.

Is the universe trying to tell me something?


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