Sometimes I feel disconnected from my own mind. For example, if I can’t find my sunglasses, I’ll think to myself, “Where would 2pm Annie have put these?” Or if I stumble across something exactly in the right place, like a word document in just the right file on the computer or the shearing scissors in just the right basket in the closet, I’ll say to myself “Good job Past Me. You put these in the right spot.” My Disconnected Mind praises me all the time. I know this is odd, but it’s also a great ego boost. I’m sure I have a very health self-esteem because of my manic self-congratulatory tendencies.
So when I saw Beyonce cradling her little baby bump on the red carpet of the VMAs last night, my Disconnected Mind felt a twinge of jealousy. I know this not because I personally felt jealous, but because I know that a distant part of my brain - the same part that congratulates me on finding lost items - is engaging in mental sabotage to get me pregnant. Like Freddy Kruger in Nightmare on Elm Street, my Disconnected Mind attacks me where I’m most vulnerable: my dreams.
That’s right. I’ve been dreaming that I’m pregnant. And I don’t mean that I’m dreaming about my ankles swelling or stretch marks. Nope. In my dreams I’m either - to be PG-13 about it - in the act of becoming pregnant (no complaints here) or am in Beyonce baby bump bliss, with smiling family faces and Father-of-the-Bride-Part-Two like nurseries. It’s freaking adorable, and my Disconnected Mind knows it.
I started having these vivid pregnancy dreams about a year ago. Like I always do if I have a particularly memorable dream, I first looked up the meaning on www.dreammoods.com'sDream Dictonary:
So when I saw Beyonce cradling her little baby bump on the red carpet of the VMAs last night, my Disconnected Mind felt a twinge of jealousy. I know this not because I personally felt jealous, but because I know that a distant part of my brain - the same part that congratulates me on finding lost items - is engaging in mental sabotage to get me pregnant. Like Freddy Kruger in Nightmare on Elm Street, my Disconnected Mind attacks me where I’m most vulnerable: my dreams.
That’s right. I’ve been dreaming that I’m pregnant. And I don’t mean that I’m dreaming about my ankles swelling or stretch marks. Nope. In my dreams I’m either - to be PG-13 about it - in the act of becoming pregnant (no complaints here) or am in Beyonce baby bump bliss, with smiling family faces and Father-of-the-Bride-Part-Two like nurseries. It’s freaking adorable, and my Disconnected Mind knows it.
I started having these vivid pregnancy dreams about a year ago. Like I always do if I have a particularly memorable dream, I first looked up the meaning on www.dreammoods.com'sDream Dictonary:
To dream that you are pregnant, symbolizes an aspect of yourself or some aspect of your personal life that is growing and developing. You may not be ready to talk about it or act on it.
Pish posh. Maybe this symbolism holds if you’re a man dreaming that you’re pregnant. But a 26 year-old woman having recurring pregnancy dreams at the same time every month for the past year? The only aspect of my life “growing and developing” is my fertility clock. And my Disconnected Mind is magnifying its tick-tock like a megaphone. I wake up from those dreams feeling like I have Big Ben in my ovaries.
But then I look over and see my furry baby by the side of the bed. Teddy will do for now, especially because he doesn’t wake me up in the middle of the night or make me take him to see The Smurfs movie. So Big Ben might be ticking, but I’m going to put in my earplugs for now. No babies for us for awhile. Just in my dreams.
No comments:
Post a Comment