Last night I had my first anxiety dream about pregnancy and motherhood. I've had other dreams that were more metaphorical in nature about my fears of bringing life into the world (in such dreams I give birth to kittens that fly out of me like furry pin balls and scatter around the room). But this one actually involved a BABY.
In this dream, I’ve given birth and my house is filled with guests. The baby is passed from hand to hand, and I can’t keep track of her. Plus, I’m very tired. So, I go lay down, and I wake up the next morning. For a moment, I forget that I’m a mother, and I stumble downstairs to get coffee started. My houseguests look at me like I’m insane. Where’s the baby? they ask. I run upstairs and run into the closet/storage space that we use for all the things we don’t need. The Christmas tree stand, a stack of books for my husband’s thesis, our old CDs. The floor is littered with pillows and wrapping paper, and in the corner I see a toy crib. It's empty.
The crib is one my sister and I played with when we were kids. I paw through the tissue paper, and beneath it I find the newborn, who looks like Suri Cruise. She's alive, and I pick her up and carry her downstairs like nothing happened.
Psychoanlayze that, baby.
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