Nightmare Daydreams

I have a confession to make this morning.

It may shock you.

First though, let me clarify.

I like feeling the baby move. I like knowing that she (he - I'm practicing, just in case you know?) is moving and exercising and stretching her (his?) limbs.

But really, I don't like feeling the baby move, except for of course, what I mentioned above.

There are various reasons, but mostly I just don't like the way it feels.

Also, it reminds me that baby is growing bigger... and bigger means coming out sooner... and coming out means pain and a million possible things that could go wrong.

It is at this point that the nightmare daydreams begin.  I mean, have you ever considered the incalculable number of things that could go wrong?

Let's say, for instance, that I'm taking a shower.  A contraction comes, and it is so sudden and intense that I slip a little.

Which causes me to overcompensate, and factoring in my awkward center of gravity, and the wet floor, I fall down.

I break my leg.

I am in the shower, having contractions, with a broken leg.

Devin is at work.  My children are playing outside.

There is no one to hear me scream for help.  Or deliver my baby.

That was delightful, wasn't it?

Let me introduce you to scenario number two.

I am dropping Hallie off at school in the morning, Heather and Hanna buckled in their seats, Hallie is grabbing her backpack and about to hop out the door into the chill autumn morning.  It is probably raining, hard.

A contraction comes, and it is so sudden and intense that my foot presses down on the gas instead of the brake, accidentally.

I tap dance into the car in front of me, and since it is so wet he goes slip sliding into the car in front of him.

A 15 car pileup.

We all have to wait for the officers to arrive, and when they do, amid my contracting and steady breathing I realize that I didn't bring my driver's license.

And my insurance is expired.

So is my vehicle registration.

The cop thinks I'm faking contractions to get out of the whole mess, because it is after all my fault, and I have no identification and no proof that the car is even mine.

He is scratching his head trying to decide what to do with me.

(What would they do with me?)

Contractions keep coming.

He is forced to deliver my baby, Hanna and Heather still buckled in their seats in the back.


That's why I might look tired if you see me today.

It's hard to sleep with scenarios like that running through your mind.

And I know, I know. Highly improbable, both of them.  But also, entirely possible.