snips and snails

Friday night I dreamed that I had two more boys in such quick succession that I couldn't even blog about them. I was so guilt-ridden that my life had exploded and I hadn't even notified the blog. A few nights before I dreamed someone else I knew was pregnant with three boys.

Yesterday morning at the Farmer's Market, I met a man with two kids. He asked how old Swee'pea was, and I told him, then asked how old his two were. He thought for a moment, then started rhyming off ages: 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, and almost 4 (or something like that. I might have stuck an extra kid in there). He only had his oldest and his youngest with him.

"Wow," I said. "That must have been a BUSY five years."

"It was."

"It makes me shiver just to think about it... I found that infant year so hard, I can't imagine doing it over and over."

I think this may have been the wrong thing to say. I meant it is as praise and admiration, but I think I offended him.

"Oh really? We didn't find it bad. We had a lot of fun."

The conversation died.

I think I'm getting more and more PTSD about the whole infancy thing as time passes. And this is fucked up but I've drifted away from the friends who had their first baby when I had Swee'pea and who have since had a second child. I feel a little betrayed, to tell the truth, like they've gone to the Dark Side. And I don't know how to relate to the enormity of having a baby AND a toddler. It's stupid I know, but I think my memory of that first year might be getting worse as times goes on. My comment to the man at the market said nothing at all about the joy and love and miraculous expansion of my world.

Swee'pea woke up several times last night, upset and calling for me. The first time I'd just discovered Punk Rock Mommy's blog for the first time (too late) and my eyes were red and sore from crying. So I laid down next to Swee'pea, full of sadness for children who have lost their mothers far too soon, and for mothers not getting to see their children grow. And I did as she said and cuddled Swee'pea. I wrapped myself up in the simple beauty of his eyelashes resting on his soft pale cheek.

I ended up spending the night in his bed, and returned to my bed in daylight. Moments later he was crying for me again, and he came into our bed, where he continued to cry and kick and demand access to my belly. After the whole night at his service, I felt grumpy and claustrophobic and didn't do a very good job of "explaining" to him that I needed a break from his scrabbling hands. I always feel like a lousy mother in these moments, but I rationalize that it's important to learn to respect other people's boundaries.

I fell back to sleep after Sugar D got up with Swee'pea. My dreams were anxious and restless, full of wild dogs snarling and snapping to get at two young children who weren't mine but who I had to protect, burning cars, and angry and alienated people like a Mad Max movie, all in another country that looked remarkably like the landscape of my childhood. I'd become separated from Sugar D and there was no way we'd be able to catch the flight that would take us away from the chaos. I woke up with the realization that I was on my own and unable to get home.

* * *

This morning when I arrived at the Drop-In Centre, a boy was sleeping with his head on the table. The back of the centre with its computers and couches was closed because someone stuck playdough to the ceiling and didn't clean it up. The boy was all elbows and angles and the table couldn't have made a nice pillow. I'm quite certain he was well and truly asleep, not just dozing. I assumed he was sleeping off some excesses of last night. I try not to make assumptions about people here but I can't help my curiosity and eye for details, and some things are just a reality.

When he came up to the counter after he woke up his eyes looked kind of vacant, and occasionally his slow words slurred. It took him a long time to answer my "Do you want sugar in your coffee?" He had scrapes and scars on the backs of his hands and forearms that made me wonder if perhaps he used heroin. Once upon a time I would have thought that was impossible in this small quiet town, but not anymore.

Later, M came in. Last time I saw M he told me that he'd once been very close with the young woman whose dead body police found in a park a month or two ago. Her story had been in the paper: 29 years old, history of psychiatric problems and a conviction for possession of crack. When I read it, I figured at least a few people at the Drop-In Centre must have known her, but I wouldn't have thought it was M.

When he laid eyes on the formerly sleeping boy, M exclaimed and hugged him hard. "I'm just so glad you're still alive!"

Later still, the boy was sleeping at the table again. As I watched his eyelashes flutter lightly on his cheek, it struck me that he was someone's son. He was so young, it couldn't have been that long ago that someone had gazed at his eyelashes resting on chubby, unmarked cheeks like Swee'pea's. Or maybe it was. Maybe nobody's ever done that before... who knows.

I'm glad the boy has someone who's glad he's still alive.

dream

I had a funny dream the other night. It featured Aiden from Sex and the City, who Carrie dumped and I could never figure out why because he was HOT and he could BUILD things (I mean c'mon, what more could you ask for?). Anyways, Sugar D and I had bought a fixer-upper in The City, which needed a LOT of fixing up, and we were not really up to the task. Aiden, who happened to be in love with me (unrequited -- huh?) offered to do it all: knocking down walls, restoring original mouldings, putting in a new kitchen and bathroom, everything. Swoon. I felt slightly guilty because there was no chance Aiden's love would ever be requited, but let him do it anyways. After all, we were getting free labour. The renovations took months, but by the end of it we had a grand apartment, utterly gorgeous, AND Sugar D was long gone. I'd finally done right by Aiden. The only downside of the dream was that I woke up before anything got hot and heavy after all the renovations.

weird day, weird dream

Today was weird. Shortly after I arrived at work, I noticed I was feeling decidedly edgy and more than a little grumpy. I wondered if someone had spiked my tea with coffee or five extra teabags. A nervy current thrummed across my muscles, pushing my shoulders up to my ears and flicking my toes in my still-stinky sandals and twitching my fingers on the pen. I felt like a green filly at her first race, overfit and spooking at the crowd, except there was no crowd and it wasn't a race or my first day or first anything.

I think the weirdness started when I found myself swimming to consciousness at 5:30 this morning, trying to escape a nightmare in which I had just gotten fired, one of two scapegoats from some incident involving shit and a fan (in reality my workplace is not like this at all). But I just officially gave up a permanent position with an organization reputed for its cushy and reliable permanence, and Sugar D's recent experience with organizational amputation has reminded me that nothing's permanent. In my dream, I didn't have enough experience with the company to even merit a package, a terrifying prospect when Sugar D is also unemployed right now (in real life, I would merit a package of some kind).

I suppose it's a pretty standard anxiety dream, except that last night I went to bed thinking about how my blog has jumped the shark and I'm not getting as many comments as I have. I've also been feeling pretty discouraged that no-one's really looking at my photos on flickr. The images that I like the best are only getting anywhere from zero to five views, never mind comments or anything like that. I know I need to comment more, both on flickr and in bloggyland but still... shouldn't someone enjoy my photographs on flickr? So in my dream, after I found out I was fired as a scapegoat and discovered we would shortly become destitute, I realized I could blog about it, and surely that would get more comments. I woke up trying to compose a short post.

I am ashamed at what a comment whore I am, at how my dream has shown me up to myself. (And, um, well look at that... I'm blogging about it.) Mad's words also keep ringing in my ears: "I need to remember what is was like to live life without experiencing every moment as potential blog fodder." And damn it, I just miss her.

Anyways, I spent the day grumpy and impotent. And now it's time for So You Think You Can Dance.

PS I didn't get fired.

twister

Last night, I slept for seven hours straight with no wakings by either me OR Swee'pea. That's the first time that's happened since he was born. Strangely enough, I don't feel as rested as I thought I would. In fact, I feel quite tired, like my sleep debt is so huge that it's only once I start trying to pay it off that I am faced with the enormity of what I've been ignoring for so long.

Incidentally, Swee'pea did NOT sleep through the night, he woke twice, but the wakings were at 10 pm and 5 am and i went to bed as soon as I settled him at 10.

Anyways, when I swam to consciousness this morning long after Sugar Daddy had already jumped out of bed to tend to Swee'pea, I remembered the dream I'd just been dreaming.

A long, long time ago, I mentioned tangentially (is anything I ever write NOT tangential?) that I used to have nightmares about tornadoes. Just so you don't have to click and dig, this is the bit I'm referring to:

When I was about 7, I saw some footage of a tornado at night; it was all red and black. For many years those colours were how I thought of tornadoes. That image, along with watching the Wizard of Oz around the same age or just before, must have made quite an impression because I developed a phobia of tornadoes; my nightmares in adolescence and my early twenties always featured me seeing a twister on the horizon and panicking while I waited to see if it would hit us or our neighbours. I knew I turned a corner when I dreamed that I wasn't scared; I just went down to the basement and calmly waited. I don't have nightmares about tornadoes anymore.

Last night, I dreamed of twisters again. Only this time, I was on some kind of tour, maybe even a storm chasing tour. We (Swee'pea and Sugar Daddy weren't there, it was just me and other tourists, including an old friend) kept being driven to a new farm with a dusty driveway, and every time we got out of the van there was another twister coming. I couldn't see many of them because of all the outbuildings surrounding us, so I never really knew whether we were actually in danger. There weren't any basements to shelter in, and that was kind of the point I think. Our tour guide felt that being in a doorway of an old barn was safer than the van, so every time he notified us of an approaching twister, we each squatted in a doorway with our arms over our heads. Once in a while I'd catch sight of the giant twisting column of destruction and feel a tiny jolt of fear, but mostly I just calmly waited and hoped.

I find it interesting that on the night I had the longest stretch of uninterrupted sleep in nearly 15 months, I seemed to have turned another corner in my anxiety dream motif. I'm not only calm in the face of scary twisters, I am actively seeking that fear and mastering it, deliberately putting myself in situations were I can't keep a close watch on the threat and not hiding from it either.

* * *

Did you see the video of the magical Rheostatics' singalong? Seriously, you should watch it... as Sage said in the comments, it "almost caught the final moment... almost."

One for the record books

Last night, Swee'pea slept for eight (8!) straight hours -- in his crib!!

Sadly, I didn't.

He slept from 8 to 4:15 am.

I went to bed at 10, woke up at 2, looked at the clock to see how long Swee'pea had been asleep. Went back to sleep easily.

Woke up again at 3:30, excited that he was STILL asleep. Had a hard time getting back to sleep as I was getting excited that this was the longest stretch yet and maybe he was gonna sleep right through. Started composing a post about him sleeping through the night for the first time ever, got giddy, etc. etc.

Finally fell back to sleep and dreamed that he DID sleep through the night and I was trying to blog about it but wasn't having any luck coming up with an interesting angle --

Woken at 4:15 at Swee'pea's insistence.

He wouldn't settle in his crib and took at least an hour before he settled back to sleep in our bed. Still, it was better than the two hours of violent thrashing and headbutting and harumphing onto my chest in the middle of the night before.

The night before THAT, he woke up a few times but each time we settled him in the crib and he ended up staying in his crib until 5:45 am. Another personal best!!

So, the nightweaning has been going well, I think.

Edited to add: Don't you just love the baby sleep gods' sense of humour? Not 30 seconds after I hit publish, Swee'pea woke up screaming, and is WIDE awake.

Edited an hour later: He's still awake despite about a hundred miles of walking back and forth. And this post sounds much lighter and hopeful than I feel at these times when he just will. not. sleep. These times when I feel my exhaustion so palpably, when I become overwhelmed with the "Why meeee's?" Surely, we've paid our sleep dues in the last 14 months? Surely we deserve a break?

A Bloggy Dream

Last night I dreamed that I was at my parents’ cottage in the height of summer, and I was blogging. I blogged at night when the light in the cottage glowed yellow on the small lake, and during the day when the sun glinted off the water’s ripples in a way that made me keep looking away, retinas burning.

Someone on the lake was reading my blog, and managed to track me down based on watching lights in cottages at night and matching them to the time I posted my thoughts. She was a midwife or a doula or something, intent on helping people, and kind. Her daughter, who was almost grown up, was sick, not sick with a cold but with something if not life threatening than significantly life changing. I think it was life threatening though, and her name was Hope. I don’t remember the name of the mother, the woman reading my blog, but she was strong too, and swam across the lake to me one afternoon. I stood high up in the sun, looking down at her as she swam.

I was a bit taken aback at how interested she was in me when she reached my side. She asked me lots of questions, and invited me to a belly dance show she had tickets for.

When we met at the show entrance, she asked me how my day/weekend/whatever had been. She asked me how I was feeling and about my more recent posts. I talked and talked in response.

Then she mentioned her daughter, Hope, and I felt bad that I hadn’t thought to ask her and said so. She said she’d noticed or something like that. I tried to make a joke about how self-absorbed and self-centred I was but she didn’t laugh. She just said, “I KNOW!”

Then she walked out, angry, too angry to spend another instant in my presence. And I found myself without a ticket, without a valid reason for being where I was, and alone in a crowd, more self-absorbed than ever.

13 Songs I Listened Incessantly To While Heartbroken

The other night I dreamed I was young again, like 20... young enough to be stupid but old enough to be free to revel in that stupidity. I was at my parents' barn up in the hay loft, where the hay had been cleared away to reveal an old roller rink. So I was on roller skates with some other young people, doing some of the fancy moves I could do back when I was 7, on the old, surprisingly smooth boards, and I was particularly interested in this one guy. I just followed him around, and eventually he sort of noticed me... I was just starting to wonder if maybe the interest was mutual when I was woken up by Swee'pea crying for More Boob! (He's been nursing almost constantly for the last week or so overnight, I guess because I've stopped nursing him between 8 and 5 during the day.)

Lying in bed with Sugar Daddy far on the other side of Swee'pea, I felt intense nostalgia for those free and stupid days, when every once in a while I would be lucky enough to experience the giddiness of new mutual attraction. Partly I think this is because of the old letters I read this weekend to my sister and other people, where I reported a lot of my crushes. Partly because I think it's something I do when life gets a bit hard, when Swee'pea's not sleeping well, and Sugar Daddy and I are feeling too tired, and stretched tight like an elastic band about to snap. Revisiting my old cds yesterday only added to this reverie.

Of course I know that there are wonderful fantastic things about being in a long-term relationship, and sharing the parenting of this amazing little being, different and separate but with bits of us both, but I got a bit sad thinking about that old excitement.

Many of my old letters were embarrassing, especially the ones to my sister. It seems all I wrote about were the boys I was interested in/stalking. It happened so frequently, and with so much thwarted passion, I'm amazed that I still have a heart... I should have gone through at least 9. (Of course, now, I couldn't even remember some of the guys I talked about, or their names in some cases.)

Anyways... a soundtrack of heartbreak:

1. Red Hot Chili Peppers - Under the Bridge. In grade 10 I spent at least a year obsessing over Jack. He worked at Burger King with me and I was taken with him. In retrospect, he had a bit of a mullet, but that was ok because he was tall and had gorgeous bluey-gray eyes. He went to a different high school, but came to a CFNY dance at my school once, and I danced with him to Under the Bridge. It was amazing and magical and I described just how he held my waist in a letter to my sister. I spent the whole weekend listening to my tape of Blood Sugar Sex Magic, which was one of my absolute faves at the time. I figured it had to be a sign that he danced with me to that song.
   
   But the following week, I learned that he had just started dating, that very night he danced with me, another girl. I was heartbroken, and yet kind of impressed with his choice of girlfriend, because she was overweight. Even then, and even with my sadness, I thought it was cool that he wasn't just after the conventional idea of beauty. Shortly after that I got the job at the stud farm, and lost touch with anyone who knew him, but I often wondered if they lasted a long time. I kind of thought they might.



2. Blind Melon - No Rain. In the beginning of grade 12, I had a massive crush on a younger guy, Ian, who had long curly dark hair, and was tall and skinny as a rake. Apparently, I also thought I would add to the allure of an older woman I was sure I held by writing him "quirky" letters, and phoning his house drunk, asking for him, then hanging up when he answered. I don't know how he resisted, but he did.
   
   I had completely forgotten until last weekend when I found a letter to him, wondering why he hadn't replied to my letters, and a letter to my sister explaining my logic in sending these letters. I guess I didn't bother sending the letter to him, figuring I was unlikely to get a response (a good decision I think). One time, at a dance, I saw him cuttin' the rug to this Blind Melon song, so I had to listen to it incessantly for a long time. As I remember, I didn't so much get heartbroken over this guy as I got interested in a new guy, the one who became my first love.



3. Nirvana - Heart Shaped Box. After my grade 12 winter formal where I decided I liked this uber cool alternadude, and felt like we'd bonded dancing to Heart Shaped Box. The crush didn't last long, once it came out that he liked my friend. Cue music.



4. The Odds - I would be your man. First, let me say that I listened to this album the other day, and I still like it. And it still makes me feel just a little bit sad remembering past hurts. I listened to the whole album on repeat after my first boyfriend, who I wanted/expected to marry eventually, broke up with me over the phone from 1000 miles away. There are a few ballads on this album that helped me wallow in my heartbreak, but the lyrics of this song especially brought on the tearfest:
   

   Its so easy to see that I
   Could wash your feet, and fill your womb
   And I would be your man
   But it hurts to know, but I dont think I can




5. Leonard Cohen - Chelsea Hotel No. 2. Another first love breakup song. We used to hang out in the cabin that my friend and her boyfriend built themselves, drinking and listening to Leonard Cohen. Er, listening AND singing along with, loudly and drunkenly. It was these words that really got to me during the wallowing time:

   And clenching your fist for the ones like us
   who are oppressed by the figures of beauty,
   you fixed yourself, you said, "Well never mind,
   we are ugly but we have the music."




6. U2 - Sunday Bloody Sunday. I didn't own a copy of this at the time, but after the breakup with my first love, hearing it on the radio could spiral me into a weeping wreck. Because I first heard it with him, and loved it immediately... somehow it just reminded me of him.



7. Neil Young - Philadelphia. First love again, because we'd seen Philadelphia on our first date. The most retarded choice ever for a first date movie, but what can you do? We laughed uncomfortably throughout. Anyways, this woman I babysat for quite regularly had the soundtrack, so I spent five hours immediately fallowing the phone breakup sobbing next to the cd player, this song on repeat.



8. Ashley MacIsaac - Sleepy Maggie. Um. Er. Well, I cashed in my v-card to this song. On St. Patrick's Day, I won't say how many years ago except that I was a late bloomer compared to all my friends. I was reminded of this today by references to upcoming St. Patrick's Day plans. A nice fellow, a good experience, but he lived something like 8 hours away, so I pined after him, listening to this song on repeat for way too long. I still like it though.
9. Leonard Cohen - Waiting for the Miracle. V-Guy again, because I had just watched... that movie with Woody Harrelson and Juliette Lewis... the one where they become murderers... aha! Natural Born Killers! Yeah, so I'd just watched that, and was also listening to that soundtrack a lot at that time.



10. Daniel Lanois - Ice. But really the whole Acadie album. But I've already talked about that.



11. Bob Dylan - Lay Lady Lay. I had a shitty birthday when I turned 21. I had been dating a nice enough guy, but just before Christmas (and hence my Boxing Day birthday) he stopped calling or returning my calls. So by New Year's I figured that was it, and called him to formally end what was clearly already ended. It wasn't that painful, but still disappointing... So my friends threw me a surprise 21 and a quarter birthday in March, complete with Amazing Race style clues to guide our pub crawl, long before Amazing Race was even a twinkle in anyone's eye. One of my friends gave me a mixed tape with Bob Dylan and Ani DiFranco among others. I'd heard my friend's boyfriend (the one we got high on garlic with) sing his version of the chorus, but didn't hear the actual song until I got this tape. It proved essential listening when Sugar Daddy and I broke up for a week after six months. I spent most of the week when I wasn't at work curled up in a big comfy arm chair listening to the tape over and over again.



12. Bob Dylan - Knockin' on Heaven's Door. See above. This song was on the tape too, and before the tape, I'd never heard Bob Dylan's version.



13. Ani DiFranco - Both Hands. This song was also on that tape, but I remember it more clearly as being the soundtrack of another heartbreak. I started a somewhat casual relationship with a charismatic guy, who I suspected was a compulsive liar. He told me he had stomach cancer, that he made a very handsome living owning three grow houses in the city and letting other people do the work, and doing seasonal construction work down east or something. We were getting along quite well, and he was quite sweet except for occasionally not showing up when he said he would, even if he'd just called to say he was coming over now. Oh - and he wouldn't give me his phone number; that was annoying.
    
    Not long after we started dating, he stopped calling suddenly, and when I went out and saw his friends, they didn't know where he was. They figured he'd left town. After a month or so, I figured he had too. He did finally show up about four months later, and told me a big story that I can't remember now about why. Also something about wanting to settle down with a family, which scared the crap out of me.
    
    Some time after that, I saw him again, and he told me he was going to become a father soon and he was really happy. The lyrics of the song that felt especially apt during his mysterious disappearance were:

    and I am listening to the low moan of the dial tone again
    and I am getting nowhere with you
    and I can't let it go
    and I can't get through

I was thinking about all this today, and wondering why I insist on thinking about this stuff so much, and blogging about it. Especially when I felt so embarrassed by my letters. I suppose it's because I'm looking back in irony, and those letters were SO earnest.

Sugar Daddy came home early because of the storm, and -- get this!! -- Swee'pea was sleeping. in. the. crib. And had been for like nearly two hours. We exchanged a very nice hello kiss while he made himself a cuppa tea, and I asked him playfully, in my old, unsubtle, 20-year-old fashion, "wanna get laid?"

"Um. Maybe. Well I just want my cup of tea first."

Then Swee'pea woke up before he'd even started his tea.

I don't suppose it's that much of a mystery after all why I'm getting so nostalgic for past excitement...

Quest

Edited to add more random stuff.

Last night I had a quest dream of sorts. I had trouble sleeping, but when I finally fell asleep in between Swee'pea's restless thrashing and wakings (poor guy has a nasty cough now, occasionally hoarse voice, and very runny nose... I thought he got over the cold before we did but I guess I was wrong), I dreamed. I dreamed that I went to some sort of fashion expo, like a craft show type of event. Only it was also sort of a treasure hunt. If you proved worthy you could gain wealth or beautiful items of clothing. The judges were the people who made the clothes. I was deemed worthy of a sort of fur coat (leopard print too) with money in the pockets, but then the maker changed her mind I guess and took it away from me. I found myself in possession of something else, which was also subsequently taken away from me.

I was about to leave the event empty-handed and I was ok with that, when a friend, a young guy, short but cute, someone I don't know in real life, took me to a tree in the middle of all the booths that filled the gymnasium. He said he thought I might find what I was looking for here. An old wizened Asian man stood guard, with one of those long mustaches that nearly touched the floor, and he wore a robe and hat like a wizard, like Gandalf. He agreed to let me follow my friend through a tiny door into the tree. He said my friend would guide me to what I was looking for, but that I needed to keep my friend safe while I searched.

My friend went into the tree, and after a few minutes the old man let me follow. The tiny door opened onto a sort of ladder that I had to put together myself or flip levers to make it happen automatically. I climbed up and up and up, and eventually came into a dusty attic room full of boxes. There was no sign of my friend, but he had left some kind of indication leading me to a cardboard box full of envelopes, large and small. One envelope was bulging with money, lots of it. I hid this in my pocket, because the place outside the tree was rife with thieves, and it was nearly impossible to leave without getting mugged and losing your treasure. I think it was an extra part to the quest, to determine whether you were worthy of your treasure. Then I noticed that the envelopes had my handwriting on them; they were letters I had written to loved ones, now dead. I decided to take the box with me too, although it would mark me as someone bearing treasure. As I looked on the box, I felt certain that it was a gift dropped from the heavens, something that had materialized from the afterlife, a gift from those who had passed on.

It was hard not to run out of the building, which would immediately make me a target, but I walked as quickly as I could while still looking somewhat casual. I made it out of the show with my bounty intact. Outside the building I met my sister, and Sugar Daddy. My sister drove us to a store selling bathroom fixtures, in a sort of barn. She left, and SD and I waited for assistance. Nobody came, so we started taking out clothes off, I guess to test the showers and baths surrounding us. Someone finally came in from outside, and surprised us, naked. I felt hugely embarrassed, because I was acting like a teenager when I am 30, and a mother. Then I woke up.

Anyone know anything about dream interpretation?

* * *

Yesterday afternoon, I watched a small bird of prey swoop through the patio at Einstein's Cafe with its prey dangling from its talons (luckily no one was dining al fresco). A few minutes later I discovered it in a tree. I think its prey was twitching, and perhaps it was just waiting for it to be still. I took some pictures as I got closer, until finally I couldn't have been more than 15 feet from it. I kept snapping compulsively, and then it flew away with its prey.

I thought it was a falcon, perhaps a peregrine falcon. But my ornithologist friend says it's a Cooper's hawk. With a pigeon or a mourning dove, I think. They look bigger in the picture than they were in real life.

It was cool, because I was just musing about how stupid it is that I've started carrying my camera everywhere, what a waste of energy it is to carry it when what's the point? It's just Guelph. I've already shots hundreds of pics of Guelph in the last month. What more can there be worth shooting?

Swee'pea slept on oblivious.

Sex and the City Dream

Apparently lurkers cannot be coaxed out into the light. Oh well. I should have known. Not even if I say please, really nicely? How about pretty please with sugar on top? You can still delurk and totally make my day, if you want. (And yes, this means you.)

* * *

The other night I had a crazy dream. Actually, I had several crazy dreams. I meant to blog about them yesterday but I forgot when I was at the computer. My favourite of the three crazy dreams involved me somehow becoming Carrie Bradshaw, in one of the episodes when she was dating the guy from Northern Exposure... John Corbett? I really liked him in Sex and the City and NEVER understood why Carried dumped him. He was so nice. Anyways back to my dream. I became Carrie Bradshaw, but I was still partly me, and could remember what was going to happen between them, so I decided to stop screwing with his head the way the 'real' Carrie was and to just be nice to him and enjoy him being nice to me.

Next, I dreamed that I was me again, and Sugar Daddy and Swee'pea and I went to some kind of eating contest. In fact I think it was all kinds of eating contests in one place... so there were the watermelon eaters and the hot dog eaters and... I can't think of any other foods that people eat in contests... Pie! You get the idea. Funnily enough, Swee'pea waved for the first time in my dream, and he waved at an old high school friend who I fell out with in university but have since corresponded tentatively with via email but haven't really seen much in person. More funnily enough, she used to be anorexic, so I found it surprising to see her at an eating contest. She was actually competing... but in the watermelon contest. Which actually isn't that much of a surprise, really.

Then I morphed into another dream, this one more disturbing. There was some kind of threat, some kind of chaos, and a million teenaged kids milling around. I saw one insert a human steak into some fabric to make it into a shield, and I remember it smelled weird... not bad exactly because it was fresh, but weird. I was trying to protect Swee'pea, and it was really scary, and then everything and everyone blew up except for me, Swee'pea (thank goodness!) and the person with the human steak shield. So I guess it worked.

When I woke up, I chose to focus on the Sex and the City dream, and not think too much about the last one.

* * *

I'm trying to get a bunch of stuff done re: passports, trip planning AND searching for daycare. Christmas is not even taking a back seat; I left it on the curb with the garbage. Though it did occur to me that I should probably give something to Sugar Daddy, to let him know how much I appreciate him and love having him as Swee'pea's father, and how much I enjoy getting annoyed with him from time to time. Maybe he'd like a blog post for Christmas? No doubt he has his eye on some kind of computer thingie or electronic device.

PS I think Swee'pea pointed for the first time today at the doctor's waiting room, waiting to get our passports guarantored (or whatever you call it). Well I know he pointed, I just don't know if it's 'real' pointing; I don't know what his intention or communication was with the pointing. Maybe just a hey, that's funny looking (at the top of a coat rack thingie), and hey, that's neat (at the painting)? Or maybe a what the hell is that thing? Whatever, it was cool. I'll mark it in his calendar. Along with his fourth tooth poking through the gum yesterday.

Fog Blog

Ah yes, blog karma, also known as pride comes before a fall, or never say that things are finally ok with your little one(s) without knocking on wood. After yesterday's, "I've accepted that I have a wakeful baby," and "I like sleeping with him," last night was awful. Swee'pea woke up about 8 kazillion times. I thought the first part of the night was awful when he woke up like 4 or 5 times before midnight. But it got worse. It got so he would cry or whimper, fall asleep again, cry again about 30 seconds later, thrash around, go still, cry again about a minute later, etc.

I nearly lost it around 3 am when I woke up hoping it was morning so that we could give up on this crazy charade. I got up and went to the bathroom because I needed some space, then decided to come downstairs and check my stats, and get a drink of water. I went back to bed, where Swee'pea was somewhat peaceful and tried to squeeze myself onto the last 5 inches of bed without disturbing him. He woke up again, though, and decided to start practicing his latest favourite sounds: the lip smacking I taught him yesterday (boy am I sorry now), and various 'words' starting with b, alternately bellowed with great force (and volume) or whispered as a puff of air:

"BOUWAH, bois, bah bah, BWAAAY, bowah, bah, bois, pa pa..."

When I wasn't trying to comfort him, I was clinging to the edge of the bed, which is luckily just a mattress on the floor so we don't need to worry about Swee'pea rolling out. Now I realize it serves a more important purpose: I don't need to worry so much about me falling out either.

When I did manage to fall asleep, my dreams were troubled. In one, I was with my family, trying to retrieve all of my niece's and nephew's toys from an old house with basically no roof, very little floor, and a whole lot of mould, spiders, spiderwebs and even snakes, where my mom had cleverly stashed them for safe keeping while their house was renovated or something. My brother was frustrated and yelling; I was trying to avoid the creepy-crawlies; everyone else was rushing around trying not to fall through a hole. In another dream, Sugar Daddy was very upset to discover that he was losing his hair; he had the same amount of hair as Swee'pea does now and it was still falling out; tiny hairs covered his shirt. There was another troubled dream too but I can't remember it now; I think it was something to do with walking past a bunch of snakes, small pale quick ones and enormous sleeping constrictors.

So yeah, it was a long night, and I felt like I was a smurf on a hike to Gargamel's or Big Nose's or wherever they were going when all the young smurfs (smurves?) continually ask, "Are we there yet Papa Smurf?" How about now? "Are we there yet Papa Smurf?" "How much longer, Papa Smurf?" I have no idea why Swee'pea was waking up so much (maybe it's teeth?). But judging from the bluish shadows under his eyes, I don't think he enjoyed himself either. And although Sugar Daddy was acting like he slept right through all this, apparently he didn't, as he mostly just growled around the kitchen this morning until he left for work. When I said, "Hey Grumpy Gus, I didn't ask for last night. It's not my fault." He said, "I'm not doing this to punish you. It's just that last night was fuckin' awful and I feel like shit." And he left.

* * *

When we got up, we entered a new dimension: the Cheerios dimension, where our floors are littered with them; whole and dry, broken and soggy, ground to dust underfoot, crushed to mush and stuck to our shoes, socks or bare feet. Yes, we gave Swee'pea Cheerios for the first time this morning. He picked them up but I don't think he ever actually got any into his mouth. Mostly he picked them up in his fist and dropped them into his lap where they rolled onto the floor. Occasionally, I took pity and put one in his mouth for him. Then he would looked faintly perplexed, brow furrowed and nostrils flared as he tentatively mouthed it until it dissolved and he swallowed it. Through my sleep-deprived fog, I could see that it was actually quite cute. When he 'chewed' the Cheerio, his mouth made soft little smacking sounds like I would imagine a fish would make if fish could survive in air and we could hear their mouths opening and closing.

last night's dream

I think I've been watching too many medical dramas. Last night I dreamed that I was dating Luca Kovach from ER; well, it would be more accurate to say that Kovach was wooing me. He was quite the wine connoisseur and kept ordering me yummy glasses and bottles of wine. And Christina Yang, from Grey's Anatomy, was sort of cheering him on and trying to persuade me to give me a chance. They both ordered mussels, but I don't eat shellfish, and I couldn't find the menu to order something else for myself.

Dreams Part II

Last night I dreamed that I was buying cigarettes in Wendy's (yes apparently the fast food chain branched out to cigarettes) and the place was full of high school kids trying to be badasses. It was hard to get service it was so busy. I think I felt nervous and like I didn't belong; like I was in high school again. My mom was waiting outside in the car with Swee'pea.

I often dream that I'm smoking a cigarette only to remember that I'm breastfeeding and shouldn't, or that I'm pregnant and shouldn't. Or that just one cigarette won't hurt.

Shortly after Swee'pea was born I had many dreams of my Grandma Ruth who died when I was six months pregnant. One was particularly disturbing: my parents were driving us to some restaurant thing, up a twisty, steeply rising, mountain road. My grandma and I were in the backseat. At the restaurant (it was an opening or something), my grandma got cold but my parents were still busy chatting. They told her to go out to the car to warm up. When we got there, she had wrapped herself in a huge clear plastic bag, for warmth I guess, but was having trouble breathing. I can still see the plastic sucked against her mouth and nose, and her alarmed eyes. (The plastic is actually quite significant because my dad's whole career was spent developing plastic films, milk bags, and recycling programs.) My dad ripped off part of the plastic but she was still struggling for breath. I saw another place to cut it open so I did and she breathed deeply and loudly like you see in movies when someone is rescued from drowning or suffocating. Suddenly I was a kid again, and I told her, "Grandma, if you die because of some stupid mistake or accident like that I'll be really mad." And she hugged me.

Dreams Part I

dreams

I remember when I was pregnant I didn't dream very much about the baby. Although I wanted to, I only had two dreams about the baby; one near the beginning of the pregnancy and one near the end, which I can't remember. Oh wait, there was also the one just after I found out I was pregnant. Somewhere around 15 or 20 weeks, I dreamed that I had the baby and it was a boy and although he was severely premature, he was already 8 pounds and didn't have to stay at the hospital at all. Unfortunately, I had no clothes for him. So my sister gave me Zoe's baby clothes, which were all pink. I didn't care about dressing him in pink though because he was clearly a miracle baby and I was just so pleased with him.

Towards the end of the pregnancy I had another dream but I can't remember now what happened in it. I do, however, remember one of Dave's dreams: the baby came out as an old man, which was slightly prophetic. Ezra definitely had that wizened, slightly atrophied look about him for the first few days. I remember when he was a few days old I witnessed/participated in my first diaper change (because of the c-section I couldn't get out of bed for a few days so Dave did all the early ones). I got a shock when I caught a glimpse of his bum; "He has an old man's bum," I laughed. When I told my mom about this surprise, she asked, "How do you know what an old man's bum looks like?" "From Sex and the City. There was an episode where Samantha gets together with a rich old man but she runs away when she sees his bum."

After he was born I often dreamed I was in labour again, and I dreamed a lot of my Grandma Ruth, who died when I was six months pregnant and for whom I still grieved, dying over and over again. These dreams often involved conversations with her as she was dying or when she came for visits from the afterlife. I think these dreams were necessary as I processed the fear from Ezra's birth.

In the evenings for the first two months or so, I would go to bed around 8 after Ezra nursed and Dave would stay up with Ezra. This way I could get a solid 2 or 3 hours of sleep. Dave would wake me when Ezra got hungry and I would struggle to consciousness, confused and disoriented. I could hear Ezra crying but I didn't understand why because I was dreaming I had just nursed him. I would even say to Dave, "But I just nursed him." And Dave would reply, "No, you've been dreaming."

When Ezra was around 4 months old, we started putting him in his crib in another room to sleep. But he was still waking a lot and he would often interrupt my dreams. I would nurse him back to sleep and the dream would stay wrapped around my head like a fog. I often found that during the next day, I would remember my dreams as he nursed.

Since we've given up on the crib and sleep with Ezra all the time, the dreams don't revisit me when I nurse. I think this is because when mum and baby sleep together, their sleep cycles synchronize (say that ten times fast). So now when he's in a light sleep about to wake up, so am I, and it's much less disruptive. I suspect this is partly why my mood has elevated so much.

tags: dreams, baby