Last night I dreamed (dreamt?) that I had the baby, and it was a boy.  This is the second time I've dreamt (dreamed?) the baby was a boy.  I don't think it means anything, except maybe that I'm having a boy.  Anyway, I had the baby and brought him home, and my whole family was there–I mean, the family I had growing up.  Interestingly enough, none of my other children was there, and Sugar Daddy was nowhere to be seen for much of the dream.  Anyway (again), my family kept trying to feed the baby spaghetti.  This is a newborn, a few days old, and they're trying to feed him spaghetti.  I said, "You know, I really only have to feed him breastmilk for the first 4-6 months.  He doesn't need any spaghetti."  And my mother (who was alive in this dream) said, "Oh, I know you did that with the other three, but this one really seems hungry for something else."  And I said, "Maybe it's because you haven't let me nurse him more than twice since I've come home.  You keep whisking him away for spaghetti."  And my sister said–as she was spooning pasta with tomato sauce into my newborn's mouth–"Oh, Mad, stop freaking out.  It's just spaghetti."

 

What was freaking me out was that I knew my baby should not be eating spaghetti, but for some reason I couldn't just say, "Hey!  I'm the mother here!  Stop feeding my baby spaghetti, you freaks!"  (And why are you all in my house?  Where are my other kids?  Why aren't you still dead, Mom?)  It was really disturbing.  Then I finally found SD, who was reading on the couch, and I said, "SD, have we picked out a name for this baby yet?"  And he said, "Uhh…no," and went back to reading.  And I continued to worry about the spaghetti and the fact that the baby hadn't breastfed in several hours.

 

I told SD about this dream this morning, and he said he had a dream that the Harriet Miers nomination was withdrawn.  He always has to have better dreams than me.

 

 

 

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I'm registering for the hospital, and I'm looking through all the brochures and papers they give you, and there's a newspaper birth announcement form that I find a little over the top.  It asks for the parents' names and the baby's name, date of birth, blah blah, you know, the normal stuff, but additionally it asks for the time of birth, the weight, the length, the siblings' names, the grandparents' names, the great-grandparents' names–and I'm thinking, "Who the freak cares about all this?"  I mean, I care, but does the greater
Portland area care?  How can they possibly have room to print all of this information? 

 

I used to be responsible for the birth announcements when I worked at the newspaper, and it was a tedious job, but the thing that bothered me the most was when parents would ask me to notify them when the announcement was going to run–which I was willing to do, when I had the time–but when I called them, as soon as I identified myself, they assumed I was trying to sell them the paper, and they'd hang up on me.  Needless to say, I did not call them back, and they did not know when their birth announcement ran.  The happiest day of my life was when one mother called to ask about her announcement and I got to say, "Yes, that ran about three weeks ago.  I tried to call you to let you know, but you hung up on me."  Sorry.

 

 

 

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SD and I have tentatively decided on a boy's name, so I was feeling okay about having a boy, but the dorkus had to tell his mother what the name was, and she said she hates it.  Well, I don't really care if she hates it, but I care that she feels obligated to tell us she hates it.  I suppose it doesn't matter because everyone in his family feels obligated to tell us they hate the baby's name, even after the baby's been born, the birth certificate's filled out, we've blessed him in church, and he's about to start kindergarten.  On my side of the family, they have the decency to talk about it behind my back.  Except for my step-mother, who doesn't really talk about it so much to our faces, but when she comes to visit the baby, she'll talk to the baby and let him know that our parenting leaves much to be desired, and she's very sorry he has such an awful name.

 

In all honesty, I'm not in love with the name we've picked for this one, so I don't need this further discouragement.  I can just hope my dreams about the baby being a boy are as accurate as the dreams I had about Elvis being a girl. 

 

 

 

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I also have a form here to outline my birth plan.  It's pretty open-ended.  I'm not too picky about my birthing experience.  I mean, beyond the basics, I don't have any special requests, like live studio audiences or relaxing music (pfft!) or scented candles.  When I was getting near my due date with Elvis, my midwife asked how involved SD wanted to be with the delivery, and I said, "Well…he definitely wants to be there."  And she said, "How does he feel about stuff like cutting the cord, helping bring the baby out, etc.?"

 

"Oh, he'd probably think that was cool."

 

"And how do you feel about that?" she asked earnestly.

 

Confused, I just shook my head and said, "What do I care?"

 

I don't think the midwife was prepared for that response because she just about peed her pants laughing.

 

I'm really tired of being pregnant.