One of the best things about pregnancy is dreaming. Huge, hormone inflicted dreams pulse with a prolific force and sound–a cacophony of explosive joy. Innate perceptions plunged deep within the collective subconscious purge in volcanic spasms–worry, fear, desire. Churning diatribes and preambles punctuated by leg cramps so gouging as to rip you from your trance and bring you to tears only to have the inner whoosh and blood return you to rest overrun with a raw, animalistic charge.
No sleep is too much. No dream too deep.
When I lay one night, a giant puff of a woman, stuffed among pillows and quilts and buried in mind between thoughts of breastfeeding and birth blood, my daughter was born to the dream world.
I hadn’t known, yet, it was a girl tucked deep beneath my bones and muscle, only that she had a name were she to be my daughter; but this night a girl came forth squalling and blue-eyed and deep, darkish pink. “Ivy,” I said and held her.
Nurses came and went and carted and talked.
A plastic bassinet arrived. Ivy watched with eyes wide open. I talked and cooed and mothered. “Are you sleepy?” I asked. She opened her mouth, a full set of teeth already grown in, “No, Mom,” she said, “I want to nurse first.”
And since we’re on the topic, what’s one of your most memorable dreams?