Friday, January 23, 2009
A Dream
The dreams are starting. I've heard about this happening with expectant parents, but I guess I didn't really think it would happen when there wasn't a baby actually growing inside. And yet -- I dreamed last night that S. and I were claymation lost toys in that classic version of Rudolph, except it wasn't while Rudolph was there. It was just another day - I was a ragdoll and S. was a pingpong paddle with a ball attached with a string, and we were lounging about the land of lost toys and the sun was setting when we started hearing a baby cry off across the sea. The other toys helped us build a boat out of fallen timber and we sailed across, heading towards the sound, which got louder and more insistent until I woke up.
Of course my alarm went off in the middle -- why would I get the satisfaction of seeing the baby at the end of those cries?
When I woke up the sun was still gray through the window, faint and just enough that I could see S.'s sleeping face nestled against my shoulder. He periodically moaned like someone was taking away his candy, and beneath his eyelids his eyes twitched all which ways, making bumps and rolls across the skin and stretching then relaxing the wrinkle across his lid. His stubble sat dark on pale white skin and he breathed gently. And I thought, "This is my husband. This will be the other father of my child."
It's a good morning. T-minus one week until our weekend intensive, and we've just finished a whole pile of forms and autobiographical questions and financials. I can't believe how many hoops are involved if you don't have a functioning uterus conveniently close by. But it shows how much we want it -- and we want it, so badly. A baby boy. A baby girl. Really, just a baby, in our arms, squalling in the night and waking me so that I can't keep those dreams straight. A ragdoll man waking after a long journey to snuggle his son or daughter close in the dark night and whisper sweet things. What a thing to want. What a thing to have.
Of course my alarm went off in the middle -- why would I get the satisfaction of seeing the baby at the end of those cries?
When I woke up the sun was still gray through the window, faint and just enough that I could see S.'s sleeping face nestled against my shoulder. He periodically moaned like someone was taking away his candy, and beneath his eyelids his eyes twitched all which ways, making bumps and rolls across the skin and stretching then relaxing the wrinkle across his lid. His stubble sat dark on pale white skin and he breathed gently. And I thought, "This is my husband. This will be the other father of my child."
It's a good morning. T-minus one week until our weekend intensive, and we've just finished a whole pile of forms and autobiographical questions and financials. I can't believe how many hoops are involved if you don't have a functioning uterus conveniently close by. But it shows how much we want it -- and we want it, so badly. A baby boy. A baby girl. Really, just a baby, in our arms, squalling in the night and waking me so that I can't keep those dreams straight. A ragdoll man waking after a long journey to snuggle his son or daughter close in the dark night and whisper sweet things. What a thing to want. What a thing to have.
# @ 2:18 PM 
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