Lately sleep has been a subconscious adventure of vivid alternative realities that have laid dormant in my head.
Not only have I been waking up at 3am every night fully awake and aware of what just went on in my head, I can't forget the detail of each dream I've had since Monday. I know that dreams become strange or more realistic during child carrying but this has been some of the most excitingly terrifying series of nights I've ever had.
I am at a large city park with my sister in law, her little 2 year old son, my husband and his brother. I'm very pregnant and I'm helping my sister in law shoot a video of her son kicking a ball with her. He kicks the ball and it shoots past me towards my brother in law. He picks it up and throws it back, over shoots and lands towards a van that has just pulled up to our area of the park. Two suspicious men walk out as the ball stops near their feet. I tell him to go get the ball. As he nears the van, the two men give my brother grief and he comes back empty handed. Thinking this is totally ridiculous, I walk over and demand the ball; explaining how silly it is to take from a baby. As I'm explaining, I don't see the left hook coming towards my face. Everyone that was there at the park with me, are gone, including my husband. I slide back, trying to catch myself, trying not to fall because there's a tiny person completely unaware of what is happening. I'm able to steady myself by hanging on to the side view mirror of the van. And then I start to forget my instinct to run and begin to fight this large man. It's not about a ball anymore, it's about trying to hurt my baby. I don't know how I came to know how to fight or even remembering where I learned how to take a blow by angling my body in such a way, that my midsection is protected. I proceed to punch this man in the throat, but not after I get a few blows, really good ones. I keep punching him until I hear the crunch of his trachea. I walk away towards our car. I see everyone there. I start to cry and ask, "Why didn't you help me? Why didn't you call the cops, he hit me first!" My husband says, "Why are you so short-tempered? Why didn't you just let it go? I'm tired of your instigating!" He then tells me, "I think we're done. I can't be someone who likes to start trouble."
It's 3am and I wake up and cry.
I'm at a doctor's office with my husband for a routine check up. I meet with a man, who is not my doctor and he does the normal checks, blood pressure and asks for symptoms. He scribbles some information down, turns to me and says, "Okay so we'll take the baby out, see how it's doing and put it in the oven at 325 for about 40 minutes." My head begins to spin. My husband says, "Sounds great doctor." I look over to him in an incredulous daze. I ask my husband, "Are you sure about this?" "Honey, they're doctors, they've done this hundreds of times." They take me to the O.R. and take out my baby. In my head I'm fighting every part of it, but my body does nothing. I don't see the baby until the ding of the oven goes off. I'm led to a nursery/bakery, where they take out the baby from the oven. It is a full term baby, breathing and surrounded by potatoes and carrots in a roasting pan. They set it before me and the baby has the face of Jabba the Hutt. Large slit red eyes, same nose, large mouth with crazy tongue. They tell me to go back to the waiting room and the doctor would come back with the results. My husband looks happy and I don't know what to think about what I just saw. I receive a text message from my brother saying the doctor found a mycordial tear but thinks it can be repaired. Be ready to head to the O.R. to put the baby back in. When the doctor shows up I ask, "How can you put the baby back in? You can't!" He says, "Ms, you're only 19 weeks along, the baby needs 21 more weeks in your oven."
It's 3am and I wake up.
My Gramma cleans houses for a living and asked if I could help her with the work. I agree. We start cleaning and my Gramma heads out the door to throw the trash. She calls for me and tells me to bring her the broom but to walk slowly out the door. Confused, I do what she says and then she tells me, "Go back in the house and close the door." Before I can object or ask what was going on, she blurts out, "Just do what I say!" So I go back in, close the door and look through the window. My Gramma has the broom in her hands, raised like she's going to strike something. Then I see the biggest spider I've ever seen. It moves down the door over the window, and my Gramma slams the broom on it. The legs of the spider curl in and I think it's dead. Then the spider jumps and it turns into a wolf spider. Not like a regular wolf spider, it's an actual combination of a wolf and a spider and it's charging toward Gramma who is standing unfazed with a broom in her hand ready to strike. I can't open the door and she gets the wolf-spider in the jaw and with another quick move she slams the broom handle onto the top of its head. She continues to fight the beast as I try unsuccessfully to open the door.
It's 3am and I wake up.
I'm trying to piece together what spurned these weird dreams. Monday's dream I have no idea, maybe the great pictures of my nephew at the same beautiful park, my love of the Bourne movies. A few months ago I posted a picture of a roasted chicken I had made and my vegetarian girlfriend said, "There's something about a whole chicken that reminds me of a tiny glazed oven baked baby. Is that weird?" And just recently, a friend of mine had written that she had found a large spider, maybe a tarantula on her kitchen counter.
The things our brains decide to store and spring on us in our dreams is so mysterious.
When I sleep tonight I can' t help but feel a little nervous about "what dreams may come."