Giving Birth To An 11 Pound Head.
Okay, so it was all a dream, but it was such a vivid dream that the first thing I did when I woke up was to look for a Caesarean Section scar.
A kick ass new combination of medications has allowed me, after literally years of interrupted, fractured or non-existant sleep, to get 8 hours of quality sleep pretty much every night. Woo Hoo. The caveat is that I now dream, and unlike before, when "sleep" meant exhausted wakefullness, I can't wake myself up from dreams I'd like to escape.
I found myself hugely pregnant, about to deliver, and on the phone with Christine, who said she had to stop by Starbucks before she came to the hospital. When I tried to explain why that course of action was unacceptable to me, my beloved; the other mother of this child, my rock, turned off her cell phone.
Things quickly went downhill from there. Angelina scared the nurses. My doctor (40 + and pregnant with twins) told me to suck it up. Labour was a bitch, and when Chris finally arrived to start her coaching duties, she used all the ice chips for her Pepsi. She forgot to bring the CD I had chosen to create a warm, comfortable atmosphere, so she ran out to her car and grabbed the first disc she could find. Tori Amos. Oh nice. "I'm atonal, my songs make no sense, only 11 people even know I exist, but my tractor loves me and I love her, too" I swore that if my daughter grew up listening to "my husband died, my lover, too, my dog hates me and I'm so bluuuuue" I'd have to kill someone.
The baby (probably scared by the Tori Amos "music") was in no rush to come out. Hours went by, Chris remembered that she had to get to BlockBuster before it closed, and left.
The baby ended up being an 11 pound head. Oh, there was a tiny baby body, with 8 fingers, two thumbs, 10 toes, but her head was 11 pounds. Labour was getting us nowhere, and I had visions of giving birth to a triangle with arms and legs. That's when my doctor decided to do a C Section.
All of a sudden there are 20 people in the room. None of them is Christine, but I recognized a bunch of her friends. The head was delivered just as Chris arrived (she had to stop at Cob's), and the doctor asked whether she wanted to cut the umbilical cord. She said she didn't want to get her hands dirty. The doc said she'd need to wear gloves anyway, but Chris complained that she didn't have any hand cream.
The 11 pound head was born healthy, with huge blue eyes. I wanted to breast feed her immediately, but got vetoed. I actually got shoved into the hallway while everyone else in the room had a party. The 11 pound head didn't make a sound, she just gave me this deer-caught-in-the-headlights look, poor baby.
I woke up totally pissed off at Chris. I've forgiven her now.
A kick ass new combination of medications has allowed me, after literally years of interrupted, fractured or non-existant sleep, to get 8 hours of quality sleep pretty much every night. Woo Hoo. The caveat is that I now dream, and unlike before, when "sleep" meant exhausted wakefullness, I can't wake myself up from dreams I'd like to escape.
I found myself hugely pregnant, about to deliver, and on the phone with Christine, who said she had to stop by Starbucks before she came to the hospital. When I tried to explain why that course of action was unacceptable to me, my beloved; the other mother of this child, my rock, turned off her cell phone.
Things quickly went downhill from there. Angelina scared the nurses. My doctor (40 + and pregnant with twins) told me to suck it up. Labour was a bitch, and when Chris finally arrived to start her coaching duties, she used all the ice chips for her Pepsi. She forgot to bring the CD I had chosen to create a warm, comfortable atmosphere, so she ran out to her car and grabbed the first disc she could find. Tori Amos. Oh nice. "I'm atonal, my songs make no sense, only 11 people even know I exist, but my tractor loves me and I love her, too" I swore that if my daughter grew up listening to "my husband died, my lover, too, my dog hates me and I'm so bluuuuue" I'd have to kill someone.
The baby (probably scared by the Tori Amos "music") was in no rush to come out. Hours went by, Chris remembered that she had to get to BlockBuster before it closed, and left.
The baby ended up being an 11 pound head. Oh, there was a tiny baby body, with 8 fingers, two thumbs, 10 toes, but her head was 11 pounds. Labour was getting us nowhere, and I had visions of giving birth to a triangle with arms and legs. That's when my doctor decided to do a C Section.
All of a sudden there are 20 people in the room. None of them is Christine, but I recognized a bunch of her friends. The head was delivered just as Chris arrived (she had to stop at Cob's), and the doctor asked whether she wanted to cut the umbilical cord. She said she didn't want to get her hands dirty. The doc said she'd need to wear gloves anyway, but Chris complained that she didn't have any hand cream.
The 11 pound head was born healthy, with huge blue eyes. I wanted to breast feed her immediately, but got vetoed. I actually got shoved into the hallway while everyone else in the room had a party. The 11 pound head didn't make a sound, she just gave me this deer-caught-in-the-headlights look, poor baby.
I woke up totally pissed off at Chris. I've forgiven her now.
posted by Alphamutt at 1:22 PM
1 Comments:
oh my. funn dream. i am sorry but i started laughing when i got to "angelina scared the nurses". lol.
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