I should start this off by saying babies make me nervous. Even toddlers. Honestly, up until they’re about 18, I’m a little weird around them.
I’ve been having a lot of baby-related dreams lately, which I am choosing to attribute to seeing my cousin’s babies over the summer and seeing a friend’s daughter a few times recently. Also, I keep accidentally watching “I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant,” which is an absolutely terrifying show that no one of childbearing age (whether or not your doctor has explicitly told you you will never conceive) should ever watch. Seriously, if you are in possession of a uterus, don’t watch it.
Anyway, dreams. My dreams in general have been very vivid and odder than usual recently, but one that sticks out is the one where I was, for some reason, entrusted with someone else’s child. On a bus. With a strange yet handsome man. All was well and good; people were cooing over the baby, and I was giving myself a mental pat on the back for being such a good stand-in mother, whatever the circumstances were that led me to being on a bus with a stranger’s baby.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, the baby started vomiting. A lot. Like...you know that scene from Monty Python’s Meaning of Life? When the guy gorges himself on every item at a restaurant, and then the waiter talks him into having a “waffer-theen” wafer, and he explodes everywhere.
That was coming out of this child’s mouth. Onto me, and the seat, and the seat in front of us, and the people behind us, and the strange yet handsome man (who, up until this point, had been somewhat of a romantic interest for me), and the people in front of us. The strange yet handsome man rushed off like a knight in shining armor in search of paper towels or something to clean the mess up.
He never returned. I was left, vomit-soaked and alone, with lots of judgmental stares. Also a baby.
I had a similarly bodily-fluid-themed dream a few weeks ago, after a friend mentioned a pregnancy dream herself. This dream featured my own totally adorable son (dream father was, presumably, Matt Damon, though this can’t be confirmed), who needed a diaper change.
Now, keep in mind, I’ve never changed a diaper in real life. The same apparently holds true for Dream Tally. She had no freaking clue what the hell she was doing. And while I’m fairly confident that I could probably figure it out in reality with only minor difficulties, Dream Tally was fucking hopeless.
The entire dream seemed to span hours and hours of me waving around this naked baby, trying for the life of me to figure out how to get a diaper onto its body. Eventually, since it was a boy, it started peeing everywhere. I’m pretty sure that’s where Dream Tally gave up and declared defeat, waking me up in a cold sweat to think about how pathetic I will be as a mother.
I’ve been having a lot of baby-related dreams lately, which I am choosing to attribute to seeing my cousin’s babies over the summer and seeing a friend’s daughter a few times recently. Also, I keep accidentally watching “I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant,” which is an absolutely terrifying show that no one of childbearing age (whether or not your doctor has explicitly told you you will never conceive) should ever watch. Seriously, if you are in possession of a uterus, don’t watch it.
Anyway, dreams. My dreams in general have been very vivid and odder than usual recently, but one that sticks out is the one where I was, for some reason, entrusted with someone else’s child. On a bus. With a strange yet handsome man. All was well and good; people were cooing over the baby, and I was giving myself a mental pat on the back for being such a good stand-in mother, whatever the circumstances were that led me to being on a bus with a stranger’s baby.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, the baby started vomiting. A lot. Like...you know that scene from Monty Python’s Meaning of Life? When the guy gorges himself on every item at a restaurant, and then the waiter talks him into having a “waffer-theen” wafer, and he explodes everywhere.
(this is before the explosion. If you haven't seen it, you don't want to)
That was coming out of this child’s mouth. Onto me, and the seat, and the seat in front of us, and the people behind us, and the strange yet handsome man (who, up until this point, had been somewhat of a romantic interest for me), and the people in front of us. The strange yet handsome man rushed off like a knight in shining armor in search of paper towels or something to clean the mess up.
He never returned. I was left, vomit-soaked and alone, with lots of judgmental stares. Also a baby.
Like this one, only without the hat and with lots and lots of vomit.
I had a similarly bodily-fluid-themed dream a few weeks ago, after a friend mentioned a pregnancy dream herself. This dream featured my own totally adorable son (dream father was, presumably, Matt Damon, though this can’t be confirmed), who needed a diaper change.
Now, keep in mind, I’ve never changed a diaper in real life. The same apparently holds true for Dream Tally. She had no freaking clue what the hell she was doing. And while I’m fairly confident that I could probably figure it out in reality with only minor difficulties, Dream Tally was fucking hopeless.
The entire dream seemed to span hours and hours of me waving around this naked baby, trying for the life of me to figure out how to get a diaper onto its body. Eventually, since it was a boy, it started peeing everywhere. I’m pretty sure that’s where Dream Tally gave up and declared defeat, waking me up in a cold sweat to think about how pathetic I will be as a mother.
My new insignia. Thank you, Google.
While I acknowledge that the above situations did not actually happen, I still maintain a degree of paranoia about the possibility of becoming a real live mother. Christ, those words give me chills.
Real Life Tally is very uncomfortable around children, as mentioned. For one thing, I don’t know how to interact with them. I realize I was a child at some point in my early past, and I’ve been around children since being a child, but I’m so socially detached at this point that I have no idea what I’m supposed to do.
Children can sense this.
They know I think they can be gross, with snot and dirty hands and the like, and they positively pounce on this knowledge. The most heinous thing they could possibly do to me is to start chewing on some sort of food, then take it out of their mouths WITH THEIR HANDS and OFFER it to me. Like it's a magical gift and I should be thankful. And they do this all the time.
I also have issues communicating with kids (for example, in the above situation, I usually shy away from them and then run away). Whether or not they’re talking yet, they seem to just stare at me. I have no idea how to talk to them, so I end up with a mix between how I talk to my cats (yes, I talk to my cats) and how I talk to their parents. Which sounds something like
“MORgannn, you’re so CUTE! Hi! Hey! Hi! Umm...sooo...read any good picture books lately?”
(blank stares)
“I like your hat”
(blank stares)
“What color is your hat?”
(blank stares, long pause, then!) “Purple”
“MOOORGaaannn! You’re so SMART!”
Besides the fact that I’m emotionally waaaay far away from motherhood (or a functional relationship, which I hear is a good forebearer to child-rearing), having nothing better to do leaves me with the occasional crippling “Oh, shit, what if?” moment. The whole “I Didn’t Know I was Pregnant” aspect doesn’t help at all, because now I can’t even assume that the normal signs of non-pregnancy aren’t actually cleverly disguised signs of PREGNANCY.
