Author: Shannon

During my pregnancy with Liam I didn’t have any notable pregnancy dreams (that I can remember–although clearly I have forgotten more than I thought I had, or I wouldn’t be pregnant again…).  While taking Prometrium, I had the vivid dreams that I’ve heard people describe.  I’ve been saving them up for posting until after we’d told people about the pregnancy.  Here’s a recount of the dreams I remembered to write down while on the Prometrium:

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I was pregnant, or at least I thought I was, but then I was told that I was actually adopting a newborn.  We named her Lola (I drink champagne and it tastes just like Coca-Cola…Lo, Lo, Lo, Lo, Lola).  When they handed her to me, I thought she was rather large and I was surprised that she didn’t look at all like me or Matt.  Then they said she was actually about 6 months old.  Then all of a sudden she was writing (in what I assume was her native tongue–I couldn’t read it but it was clearly a language and not just randomly placed characters) and when I went to see how tall she was and she was 4 feet tall.  We determined that she was actually probably five years old (I have no idea how).  Then I wanted to know how I was able to give birth to a five year old and was told that I wasn’t pregnant, just histrionic.  Then I woke up.

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I dreamed that my friend Emily was/is pregnant.  For some reason this made me cry profusely (although I’m pretty sure I was very happy).  Em — do you have something to tell me?

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I dreamed that I was at a potluck supper at my parents’ house.  I knew intrinsically that I was pregnant at the gathering but that no one else knew that.  I was also nauseous, but apparently still able to crave a balanced meal.  I was the last one in line and by the time I got to the serving table there was nothing left but jello salad.  I hate jello salad.  Then I discovered the second table which had one remaining serving of turkey, green beans, and homemade applesauce.  I filled my plate with the remainder of each dish and went to sit down.  I put my plate on the table and went to fill my glass with water.  When I returned I found Pok scraping what was on my plate into the trash can.  I confronted him about it, telling him that I was hungry, and he told me to get over it.  He said that everyone had finished eating and I’d missed my chance.  I wanted to cry, throw things, and vomit all at once.  Then I woke up.

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I was riding (or driving, it was hard to tell) down the highway at high speed when I saw that in front of me there was a van, also driving at high speed, with a teenager holding on to the back of it.  At first glance it seemed like he was just running really fast, but it was more of a gliding movement, so maybe he had on skates or something.  Anyways, my first impression was that he was somehow keeping the van on course from the back of the vehicle, either pushing or steering.  Then he moved and started doing tricks all around the sides (miraculously never leaving his lane).  His mother was opening the door to scream something at him at random intervals.  While doing so she had her head turned completely around causing her to drive blindly for long stretches of road.  This made me nervous (although apparently the gliding/skating teenager on the freeway didn’t).  At one point she was turned around for what felt like hours.  There was a traffic jam ahead.  She turned around in time for her eyes to be as big as saucers and all I saw was a white light as she screamed and slammed on her breaks.  Then I woke up.

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I was at the doctor’s office (as I had been the day before) and I had filled out a form (as I did the day before) that was given to me by the receptionist, but that wasn’t particularly applicable to my situation.  In the dream I was taken into a room with several other couples, all in different states of having blood pressure taken, blood drawn, etc.  The woman who was handling us came over to us with my form and threw it back in my face saying “this is not acceptable, you need to fill this out again.”  I was confused, but said “I wondered if it wasn’t applicable to my situation since I’m not here for an annual visit, but a pregnancy confirmation and ultrasound.”  She then snatched the paper back out of my hands and the following exchange took place:

Lady in lab coat:  Under the ‘how do you feel’ section, you wrote “crappy.”  That’s unacceptable.

Shannon:  I don’t understand, that’s a pretty accurate description of how I feel.

Lady in lab coat:  And this question?  [points to a question about a theory by some doctor which seemed to me like a question where you were supposed to intuit the answer]  Are you trying to tell me you know who Dr. So-and-so is?  Just off the top of your head?

Shannon:  No.  I just figured that since it was implied that I should be able to fill this sheet out in a short period of time, that I wouldn’t need access to reference materials.

Lady in lab coat:  Well, you figured wrong and now you’ve earned yourself some homework.  [Shakes head and says *ridiculous* in an exasperated tone under her breath.]

Shannon:  *That’s* ridiculous.  I’m not researching anything for an informational form.

Lady in lab coat:  Some people are so stupid.

Shannon:  Are you calling me stupid?  Because that’s a mistake.  I am many things, for example:  right now I’m furious, but stupid I’m not.

Lady in lab coat:  Well, I refuse to treat you while you’re being hostile.

Shannon:  Well, that works out well because I refuse to have you “treat me” in this way and if you touch me there’ll be hell to pay.

Lady in lab coat:  [Throws form up in the air and stomps out of the room.]

Friend of lady in lab coat:  [Comes over and mumbles something about taking my pulse and then promptly sticks an acupuncture needle in the back of my hand then tells me to go down the hall to another room.]

Then I walk down the hall to the other room with the needle still sticking out of the back of my hand, fuming the whole way.  I turned to Matt and said something about finding a new doctor’s office and then I woke up.

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[I had the following dream after watching entirely too much of the third season of House, which if you’re not familiar involves a drug-seeking doctor and a detective who uses many different tactics to make his point.]

I went to the drug store to refill my progesterone supplement prescription and was told that my DEA number is on hold until further notice and that they can’t help me fill my prescription.  The next thing I knew I was sitting in the office of the OB who delivered Liam (and was my doctor for 12 years before I switched things up for this pregnancy).  He was sitting at his desk with his cowboy-boot-laden feet crossed and resting on top of his desk, with his hands crossed behind his head.  He was smirking at me (which I’ve never seen him do, unless I was saying something funny, and certainly never *at* me).  When I asked why I wasn’t allowed to refill my prescription he told me that I “should have thought about that before abusing the system.”  When I countered that it wasn’t fair to the child I’m carrying to deny me medication, especially when it’s not a narcotic or anything addictive (or for that matter, when it’s something that I’m convinced makes me more nauseous and which I cannot wait to stop taking as soon as possible).  I said “how could you do this to my child?  You’ll kill her (apparently in this dream I’m having a daughter)!  How could you stand to have that on your conscience?”  He responded that the refusal to fill my prescription was the result of my actions and I had no one to blame but myself.  Then I woke up.

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I was in New York City with some people from high school (in the dream they were definitely friends, but the faceless familiar kind of friend).  We found our way to a farmer’s market.  The first thing I picked out was an apple the size of a large pumpkin.  The guy who was helping me cut it in half (with a pocket knife, somehow) because I clearly couldn’t eat the whole thing by myself (apparently 5 pounds of apple was doable while 10 pounds of apple was out of even my reach).  I then wandered around looking for pastries (and unable to find a plain cheese danish) getting more and more frustrated when I realized that the people I came with were gone and I was by myself in the middle of a farmer’s market in NYC.  I didn’t really feel panicked in my dream, but in my head I knew that I had to be panicked.  Then I woke up.

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The dreams (at least super-vivid ones like these) seem to have subsided as soon as I finished taking the Prometrium.  Hopefully they’ll stay away, they certainly feel much more real than my dreams sans Prometrium and while interesting, being awakened with a jolt isn’t much fun.

[Liam is “driving” his fire truck and giving us a play-by-play of his exploits.]

Liam:  I’m drivin’ up the driveway.  I’m drivin’ out into da road.  I’m goin’ to get dinner.

Matt:  What are you getting for dinner?

Liam:  Chicken and broccoli.

My thought:  At least that’s not as bad as if he said chicken and fries.  Right…?

[Obviously drawn from the fact that we’ve had a lot of dinners prepared by others lately (and by ‘dinners prepared by others’ I mean Publix, Mint, Galla’s, and the perennial favorite: Chick-fil-A (God bless Truett Cathy).  There have been an ungodly number of grilled chicken sandwiches, rotisserie chickens, and philly cheese steaks consumed in this house in the last couple of months.  I think that the broccoli reference is related to the fact that Mint (our delivery option for Chinese and Thai) is very fond of the broccoli.  I’m hoping to prepare my first homemade dinner since January very soon.  I’m hoping the worst is behind us…]

All I wanted was a cheese danish.

I braved the weather (and luckily dodged the heavy rains before and after our trip) to go to the Publix.  I looked in the bakery section.  All they had was almond and apple.  This would not do.  I searched high and low for the Entenmann’s section.  I finally found it.  I gleefully purchased said cheese danish.  I returned home and opened the box to take that sought-after first bite.  I found mold.

I’m pretty sure that this is a sign that I shouldn’t be eating cheese danish.  I’m ignoring this instinct and looking for danish recipes.  Yes, I want one that badly.

[Scene:  8:30 in the morning, pre-breakfast.)

Liam:  Dad?

Matt:  Yes, Liam?

Liam:  I want some chocolate.

Matt:  You want some chocolate?

[A few minutes pass.]

Matt:  Liam, let’s go get dressed.

Liam:  No.  I want some chocolate.

Matt:  How about some strawberries instead?

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At least, in case there was even a shred of doubt, we know with full certainty that he’s my son.  And at least he’s still easily redirected…

Just because you’re honking your horn and making nasty hand gestures at me does not mean I can see any better to be able to make a safe left-hand turn.  I am driving a Civic.  I am low to the ground.  I live in SUV country.  I cannot see around the line of gigantic vehicles in the turn lane across the street to be able to know if I can safely make a turn.  I have my child in this car.  He’s my most precious cargo and all the honking and gesturing (and swearing, don’t think I can’t read your lips in my rearview mirror, because I certainly can) in the world will not cause me to make a blind turn.  There is a green arrow coming shortly.  Please hold your horses and get over yourself.

Thanks,

Shannon

This morning, after a particularly exhausting (and completely necessary) trip to the Costco, we arrived back at home with a carload full of groceries at around 11:30.  After 30 minutes of unloading the car and loading the fridge and deep freeze, Liam was sneaking (unwashed) grapes out of the produce drawer and telling me he was “sooo HONGRY.”  So I started to get things going when I noticed him red-faced and squatting.  I asked him if he needed to poop and he said yes, and after a quick check to make sure the process hadn’t already started I sat him down in the toilet and began reading Fox in Socks.  After several times through that book and at least one time through the Mister Rogers potty training book, he said he didn’t need to go.  I put on a pull-up, got his pants back on, washed his hands and went back into the kitchen to start lunch again.

I looked up and saw more red-faced squatting but this time it was too late for the toilet, so we headed for the changing table.  I took off his pull-up, cleaned him up and turned around to get a new diaper.  When I turned back around things were definitely glistening.  He had peed on his socks (both of them), his shirt, and all over the changing pad.  Then it was time to change all of his clothes and the changing pad.  By the time I got him all put back together it was 12:45 and still no lunch.

He’s now happily eating Joe’s Os and a fruit cup while I try hard to absorb what’s been a universal truth with this kid since he was born:  he does things in his own time and not a minute sooner.  As soon as he’s ready he’ll let us know and then it’s off to the races with no looking back.  I sure hope his preschool accepts this explanation when he’s not toilet trained in time for the 2011-2012 school year…

Liam has got to figure out this whole potty training thing before too terribly long.  I’m trying to be patient but this morning I checked his diaper thinking that I smelled poop when what I was smelling was his blueberry waffle in the toaster oven.  That’s right:  I have cleaned up so many nasty messes involving blueberries in the past few months that I now associate blueberries with poop.  Something’s gotta give.  This is madness!