I had a dream.

When ever we visit with my brother in-law he asks me several times every morning what I dreamt. I don't like this question. Why? Because if I remember what I dreamt it is almost always because I did not sleep well. If I did sleep somewhat well and I still remember my dreams it is usually very disturbing and something I'd rather forget about and i really do not need someone reminding me several times that I'm some sort of sociopath just waiting......waiting......waiting to emerge out of my shell and spread havoc!!!!! muhahhahahahaha!!!!!!!!!!!

Well, my baby is due in a month, so I'm going to tell you what I dreamt last night! Because! How do you think I sleapt last night? What! you think I slept? This is what it has come down to. I lay down on the bed with 2 giant beating hearts painfully throbbing in my feet. Then when they suddenly remember that they are not part of the human anatomy and slowly fade away to something more subtle, my old circus injury (yes really, story time for another day children) takes over and I toss and turn trying in vain to get comfy enough to fall asleep, whilst attempting this physically challenging feat (turning over in bed) I sound like a wounded duck trying to defend it's babies from a wolf, or something similarly destitute. Once I do manage to sleep I'm quickly interrupted by the well run, clean water initiative that my uterus has instituted and so I hike to the bathroom on my still sore feet and then since I have just flushed the system it needs immediate replenishing to acceptable H2O levels. Some how in this process that repeats it self all night long I did manage to have dreams, and pretty much all of them had to do with being in labor. (or my dog running away)

This is the only one I recall in detail.

 My pregnant self is standing in the mostly deserted maternity ward. there is a nurse sitting in a chair smoking a cigarette. Just next to her is a hospital room with a sad looking huge pregnant woman in hospital paper covers laying on a hospital bed moaning and complaining. There is a small child in the room with her playing on the floor. The nurse asks me to tell the lady to come and talk to her, so I tell the woman. She looks at me shocked and replies that she can't possibly get up she is feeling awful. So I tell the nurse, who casually informs me to tell the woman that she is not ready to have her baby so she needs to pack it up and come back later when she is actually in active labor. Wondering how this is my responsibility to tell her that, I walk back into the room and tell the lady that unfortunately she has to go back home, and she looks at me with sad quiet eyes and slowly sits up. Smoking lazy nurse still just sits there.

So here is what I get from that. In spite the fact that I have decided to take it quite personal every time the alarm clock rings and I'm still pregnant, I'm nearly 36 weeks now, I apparently have an evil nurse inside of me who's job is to tell me to suck it up and deal! Because she could care less that I am the heaviest I have ever been and that my muscles are morphing into jell-o every hour I'm not able to walk or lift or sleep or sit or lay down or stand up with out it making me tired and feeling like it was me and not Jed that just did a bunch of push ups. I just have to keep on trucking until this baby is good and ready, and before that she does not want to see my mug.

So tell me, why when I just spend the last many hours wrestling with my blanket in some failed attempt to force it to become an anti gravity chamber where I can sleep in perfect comfort without the rest of my walrus shaped body crushing my already tired hip, would I want to remember that?