When I was planning my wedding, I used to dream that my dress came in and it was black and it was too late; I had to wear it. I forgot to buy shoes and since none I had were good enough, I went barefoot down the aisle in the church. Flowers were never solidified so we had none or some half-dead things from the market. I was a wreck.
And then I woke up.
I’ve been trying to draw on my dreams for information as to what this pregnancy will bring, especially what it will deliver: a boy or girl. I’ve told numerous people I think I’m having a boy and I’ve gotten used to it. Fire engines on crib linens, blues (well, I love blue anyway), and thinking about how old our son will be as compared to Bub’s friend who just delievered a boy last week.
And if I have a girl? I think I will be really surprised–pleasantly surprised–but surprised. It’s just this feeling I have, of having a boy. I dreamed once that I had a boy. And I refer to “it” the baby, the bump, as a “he”.
Bub won’t speculate. Nor did he really comment when I said that I had a dream about our baby last night.
I dreamed that I had a baby chick.
Yup. A chick. I gave birth to an egg. And then one day the egg hatched and I was overjoyed. The chick, my offspring, had been born! I was so proud!
But, dear readers, it gets more interesting. As the chick grew, it grew into the very spitting image of my childhood cat–not a kitten, a full grown cat, gray with yellow eyes.
But before the dream ended, I needed to make sure of one thing.
Was it a boy or a girl cat?
It was a girl.