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 | 
