By Christie A. Hansen
What waddles like a duck but looks
like a whale? Me. At seven months pregnant, I
sometimes look in the mirror and wish I was having
an out of body experience. No such luck. The bulging
body is mine, and it's only going to get bigger.
Fortunately, there is something
that affords me some relief--dreams. Pregnant women
are notorious for having strange dreams, and I'm no
different. One night I'm surrounded by flying
chocolate donuts, the next night I deliver a talking
newborn. I never know what to expect.
Recently I learned that in sea
horse relationships, the male is the one who carries
the offspring. My brain seized upon this little fact
and a few nights later presented me with one of my
strangest pregnancy dreams to date. Although some
details are a bit sketchy, I'm going to try to
recreate the night's experience.
Somewhere along the way from
reality to fantasy, I remember becoming Mrs.
Seahorse. No aquatic habitat, no curling tail. In
fact, other than a name change and an unpregnant
body, nothing seemed out of the ordinary--that is
until I saw my husband.
There, shaving in front of the
bathroom mirror, stood a very pregnant-looking Mr.
Seahorse. "Look," he said, "I'm breaking out with
zits again. Just when the last batch clears up, the
next ones erupt. Must be the hormones." Hoping to
make him feel better, I reassured him that it was
simply part of his "pregnancy glow."
Still agitated, he began to dress.
"And look at these stretch marks. I look like I'm
growing a striped watermelon." Reaching into the
closet, he took a shirt off a hanger. "Can't they
make paternity clothes a little more flattering?" he
complained. "I always feel like I'm wearing a tent."
He continued to mutter and grumble
as he pulled on his khaki pants with the expandable
elastic panel. Putting on his socks took a little
work, and by the time he had them pulled up, he
looked beat. "Could you help me with my shoes?" he
asked. "I don't feel like trying to tie them today."
At this point my dream jumped
around a bit. I somehow went from helping my husband
tie his shoes to welcoming him home from work. "How
was your day?" I asked. "You don't want to know," he
replied.
He then proceeded to recap the
highlights. "First, on the bus into work, a complete
stranger reaches out and pats my stomach. 'Is it a
boy or a girl?' she wants to know. If it happens one
more time I'm going to carry a sign that reads,
'Look but don't touch.'"
Before he could tell me more about
his day at work, the kids mobbed him. "Read us a
book, Daddy! Read us a book!" They began pulling him
toward the stash of library books in the family
room. He gave in, falling into an overstuffed chair.
Each grasping a book, the kids tried to climb onto
his lap. "Daddy, where'd your lap go?" our son
finally asked.
Just as I was anticipating getting
to watch my pregnant husband try to get up out of
the chair, the dream ended. "No," I thought, "It
can't end now." I wanted to see how Mr. Seahorse
dealt with postpartum blues. And what about his old
pre-pregnancy pants? Would he ever fit into them
again?"
Despite my efforts to re-enter
dreamland, I couldn't. I finally woke up enough to
realize that I was the one who was pregnant--and at
3:04 A.M., I needed to use the bathroom.
About the Author: Christie A.
Hansen is a wife and mother of three young children.
Feeling that parents wanted to hear from someone
besides parenting "experts", in October of 1997 she
began writing her self-syndicated column, "From the
Trenches." Christie's weekly columns give readers a
chance to laugh and reflect on ways to enjoy the
challenge of raising children. Read more of her work
on her website: www.fromthetrenches.net and contact
her by e-mail at christiehansen@usa.net. http://www.fromthetrenches.net |
