best of 2009. (this all makes perfect sense.)

This is a repost from June 6, 2009 . . .
when Brandon and I officially began practicing
complete and unwavering abstinence.

THIS ALL MAKES PERFECT SENSE.

It's not unusual for me to dream of alternate outcomes to my twin pregnancy. About once a week I am the mother to a litter of cats. Not cute, little, cuddly kittens. No . . . scary cats. With sharp teeth. And the premise and dilemma of the dream is breastfeeding these creepy things. These big, starving cats. I do not like cats . . . but I could happily rest with a dream of breastfeeding dogs . . .

I also often dream of having tiny babies. Perhaps this is my brain still coping with having had preemies. My girls dipped just under five pounds, but the babies in my dreams, well, let's just say I lose them a lot. I even lose them in my pockets.

A personal favorite dream of mine was right after the babies were born. See, their birthday is January 19th. Obama was inaugurated on the 20th. And now they will forever have to say that George Bush was President when they were born (really, you couldn't wait ONE more day??). My husband and I (as well as the rest of the world, excluding half of the US) were thrilled to see Obama come into office. It felt as giant of a personal victory as the gaping loss we felt when George Bush was re-elected. HOORAY OBAMA!! I must have had time to ingest some of this inaugural hoopla while I was learning and teaching breastfeeding because there President Obama appeared in my dreams. Hungry not just for change . . . but for milk. He transformed before my eyes into a tiny baby with the same tired but victorious face that he wears as a man. Creepy? Not so, because I happily fed starving little Obama. Only when my milk let down, it was a let-down fit for the President of the United States of America. Milk poured from my breasts-- so fast that little Obama could not keep up. Not only was he choking on milk, but it poured all over his face. And there, before me, was a satisfied, newly elected little baby with a man-head COVERED in cottage cheesy-breast milk. USA, USA, USA!! WHOO-HOO!

Last week I had a dream that I was pregnant again. Four months after the birth of my quintuplets (that's right), I was having funny pains in my stomach. I went to the hospital to make sense of this pain . . .

. . . Let me back up a minute. I have to mention that I also ALWAYS dream that there are more than TWO babies. As if my meds are suppressing so much anxiety during the day that my brain has to work overtime when I'm asleep to catch up. Lydia and Zadie are two of these five children, as well as a black boy named Charley, but the rest are always forgotten. I know I have two other children but there's just so much going on . . . .

. . . At the hospital I am given an ultrasound that discovers the source of my pain: Five More Babies. What?? What am I supposed to do with five more? I can't even remember the faces and names of the five I already have! In my dreams, I must also be even worse at math than in reality, because I just kept saying, "ELEVEN BABIES! ELEVEN BABIES! WE CAN'T TAKE CARE OF ELEVEN BABIES!" I am distraught. I am petrified. With ease, we decide that three will be put up for adoption. I know you must be thinking, "How will we choose which two to keep?" No worries, I was thinking the same thing and decided to keep the two prettiest babies. I'm so serious. At some point in the dream the doctors discover that I am not in labor. I am not even pregnant. A furious, ranting pursuit for the sonographer that conducted my ultrasound ensues. I'm pretty sure that I found him on a sidewalk in Myrtle Beach and I just keep saying, "Why did you tell me there were five babies? Why did you tell me this??" He was a tough nut to crack but if you have ever seen me angry and on a mission, you know that he eventually talked. He simply said, "I was drunk." Fair enough . . . but what did we see in my belly? What were those squirming little black and white blobs? "They were gas bubbles."

This all makes perfect sense. That might sound absurd to you, but, really, it does. Let me explain.

The day before the dream I was laying in the tub while my mom watched the babies. I was relaxing, practicing my deep breathing exercises when I suddenly felt more than a little rumbling in my tummy. It felt more like the girls when I was seven months pregnant. Here's the kicker: I SAW MY STOMACH MOVE. Now, I want pregnancy about as much as a thirteen-year-old girl. That girl who is not quite sure if she had sex but IS SURE that she is pregnant . . . crying every month until her next period. That's me right now. So, I flip out. I flip out until I get the most ferocious gas that has ever moved inside (and outside) of me. It goes on for hours and I think, surely it was just the gas . . .

But remember, I am that thirteen-year-old girl. So I sweat and bite my lips raw until I get an adult that I trust (my mother) to buy me a pregnancy test. I'm peeing on the stick as it comes out of the bag and . . . it is confirmed. I have been in labor for two days with five children that I conceived with a side of turnip greens and Texas Pete.

I have to say that a week later I am in those big, netted hospital panties and using a water bottle to ease the pain of urinating with a second-degree perineal tear. All five children are out and Brandon must've given them up for adoption because we're cleaning up the mess with nothing to show for it. Nothing but a pair of soiled pajamas.