Ginger snaps

I've had insomnia for most of my life. When I am asleep, I sleep deeply, and don't usually remember my dreams. That's a good thing, dear readers, because my dreams are 3D, Technicolor, THX whoppers that make me feel as if I'd taken a handful of crazy pills before going to bed. For instance, here's the gem that danced through my quirky mind last night:

**I am naked and on my back in bed, looking down at a huge pregnant belly; I'm in the middle of giving birth. Mind you, I have never been pregnant, nor wanted to be. The room is white and undecorated, but I know that I'm in my parents' bedroom in the house that I grew up in (which my father sold two years ago).

I'm surrounded by three happy, anonymous nurses in white scrubs and sterile masks. It takes a painless 30 seconds to push the baby out (as if that ever happens - any mother who's reading this is laughing hysterically right now). "It's a girl!" says one of the nurses. I look down at my body, which has instantly snapped back to its pre-pregnant state (have another laugh at my expense, moms). I see a few small white stretch marks on my hips, nothing horrible. I run my left hand over my abdomen. Well, that wasn't so bad!

One of the nurses wraps my daughter in a light blue blanket and hands her to me. She is beautiful, tiny, quiet, perfect; I am thrilled and proud. I just had a baby! I have accomplished something really major! My body is clean, feels as light as air and is suddenly clothed. I walk her into the master bathroom and gently put her on the closed toilet seat, of all places. There is a huge pile of dirty laundry between the toilet and the sink. I leave the bathroom for just a minute; I don't doubt that she is safe. I'm not sure why I left - it's a gap in the dream.

The next thing I remember is coming back into the bathroom to retrieve my child. She is gone. No blanket, no baby. Oh god, did someone throw her away by accident? Nobody knew that I was pregnant. I panic, and look all over the house for her, terrified that she might have starved to death. How could I not feed my new baby before putting her down? I'm a failure at this.

I go back into the bathroom, and I notice that the pile of laundry is also missing. I know! Dad must have taken her downstairs with the laundry. Oh Christ, is she in the washing machine?! I run downstairs to the laundry room. It's dark, neither of the machines are on, and the giant pile of laundry is sitting on top of the dryer. I frantically start to sort through it. Please let her be alive.

Finally, near the bottom of the pile, I feel a tiny hand. Found her! Relieved and freaked out, I continue to throw laundry everywhere to get to her. Oh god oh god I can't feel a pulse! I toss the rest of the laundry on the floor and pick my baby up. I feel her neck for a pulse, but find nothing. My heart sinks; it's my worst nightmare. I killed my baby. I take a closer look at her, and that's when I realize: she isn't alive, but she isn't dead, either. She isn't real.

I had given birth to a baby doll.

How did I not notice this? Oh well, at least I know I didn't kill her. I feel disappointed, but I wrap her up in her blue blanket and cradle her as if she's a real baby. After all, I'd given birth to her, hadn't I? That made me her mother. I take her upstairs to the kitchen, where my father and several other family members are milling around.

I hand the doll baby to my father and say, "Here's your granddaughter!", proudly, like a real mother.**

Lordy lord. Readers, I woke up from that dream in a cold sweat. I do believe that our dreams are a subconscious reflection of what's going on in our waking lives, but that is just nuts. Will any of you come and visit me after the nice men in the white coats take me away for a "rest"? Hahaha. Ok, time to look through a dream dictionary...