A very nearly wasn't Happy Mothers Day dream

I have been reorganising my "past blogging life" into some order here in the last few days (did you see? There's a new page, check it out!). Deciding which ones I want to resurface, which ones I feel compelled to share (the useful ones) and which posts need to definitely stay hidden. The Too Hard Basket is getting full, I can tell you that much.

But in my reading travels, I came across the post where I had a dream that was, in hindsight, a premonition. See, we very nearly lost our LGBB during birth. I dreamed about it about six weeks before she was born, as eluded to in the post below.

Now... some of you reading may think, "Good grief, when is this chick ever going to let it all go, already?"

But here's the thing: This is a reason to celebrate Mothers Day even more, to me. The young girl who is right at this moment being such a character with her Dad - I dreamed her death. We then very narrowly avoided experiencing her death mere weeks later in exactly the same circumstances. Now, if that is not cause for the greatest thanks every Mothers Day to be coming from ME.... I don't know what is.

This is a post close to my heart. Where I was given the chance to see our little Lolly properly, on an ultrasound, for the first time. And it possibly contains too much information about peeing on sticks. And an embarrassing Hall & Oates moment admission.


These Dreams Go On When I Close My Eyes...
(originally posted June 13th, 2006)


Every second of the night, I live another life.

Yeah, thanks Heart. God I loved that song.

But I digress. Before I even start.

I had the most godawful all-nighter of a dream last night. I don't want to go into it again, suffice to say it was about the baby and wasn't all peachy. Just deeply rooted subconscious fear stuff. Luckily I had an appointment this morning with Dr Luffley, so didn't have to wait too long before seeing that lovely little person on the ultrasound screen again.

And what a show I was given.

Instead of being that little blob, or the squirming arm and leg buds, or the lanky bundle of limbs, or the little ball of chub squeezing its own cheeks... where once I could see the whole length of a body, what I saw today was so amazing I can hardly describe it in words. I was greeted by a face that filled the entire screen. With a face as large as, well, life. Sucking a thumb. Then taking it out and rubbing both eyes with pudgy fists. I was gobsmacked. And Dr Luffley said "Isn't it so amazing, it's like watching them in a cot or something!"

It was exactly the antedote I had needed to clear out the remainder of the nasty feelings from the dream I couldn't shake. It was too much. During the Q&A portion of the visit (which despite what some may think hardly ever happens - I never really have questions), where I had a full list written out which Dr Luffley dutifully and respectfully ran through with me, I lost it and began to cry. It is all so surreal. I tear up again as I think, just a month ago even, I didn't dare be so bold as to assume this would come. This day where I was planning what I needed to do when Lolly gives a not-so-gentle rap on the door, I never honestly allowed myself to believe it'd come so I didn't think about it.

Being forced to make some necessary arrangements, such as work out what I do if I go into labour when Dr Luffley is still technically on leave and not "on call" but promised he'd come in for us if it happened before he was back consulting and delivering.... it's all a bit much. The last of my fears - and I will only divulge as much as to say it involves cords and the disasters I have heard about in the last two years in the new parallel world in which I reside with other parents - was alleviated today. My question was answered. I was reassured. And I feel like I've buckled in for the steepest part of the ride. The end bit, the big finale on the big dipper!

I returned to the waiting room and kept it together very admirably, while performing a urine test, the result strip over which not one but two women pored for a tad too long until they even called Dr Luffley over in between appointments - ewwww, don't get him to look at my wee-stick! - who came back to the reception window where I was waiting, to reassure me the result was fine. I have no idea why I had to give them a cup of my pee (which was like liquid gold because despite being busting, my bladder now holds about 2ml of liquid at any given time and takes forever to refill). I forget what they were testing. All I know is, whatever it was, I passed. The test as well as the pee.

On the way home, I called Steve. By the time I got out to the car, I just wanted a good cry to release all the tension. I had hoped to join him for lunch. His office is about 15 minutes due south from there. But no, I had forgotten he was in the city in training all day.... so I kept it together a bit longer while I told him Lolly's antics for the morning, got off the phone from him and then blubbered on the way home.

Here's where it gets funny. I only really started to cry when I heard Private Eye, by Hall & Oats, on the radio. I had cranked it up earlier, and then on came this old classic. I was immediately transported back to the age of 9 where I sat as a passenger in our combi van, surrounded by my two brothers and sister, mum and dad in the front. We were returning from a day trip to Warrnambool back to our camp site at Peterborough (the yearly summer holiday destination) and I was perfecting my singing. I had discovered that I could sing quietly without anyone else hearing, or so I thought, if I directed my voice into the window. I honestly thought I was the only one who could hear me. As I belted out Private Eye, once more with feeling. And then Man Eater. So earnestly that I believed I was in the film clip. I think I must have had a Hall & Oats obsession that summer.

Well, turns out, my older brother did hear. And told me huffily to shuddup. For anyone who has seen Napoleon Dynamite, when I saw this movie I thought someone had followed my older brother around to get ideas for the character. Right down to the sullen bottom lip, hair and 'tude. It's uncanny how similar they are, I could be looking at my brother back in the early 80's, it's just too funny.

I remembered that in an instant today, driving home. And I felt, I don't know... I guess I felt sad for that little girl. That she couldn't possibly have known then what would happen to her first baby - I was baby crazy, especially at the age of 9 (and every other year, I won't lie). It would have snuffed a light out in me forever, right there. All the intrigue and beauty and mystery of babies.

And then I laughed. I laughed at myself crying while belting out a very poor rendition of Private Eye once again 22 years later, this time with big fat tears rolling down my hormonally chubby cheeks and no one to shut me the hell up. How tragic, above all, that it was Hall and Freakin' Oats that got to me. Shit, don't tell anyone. I'm so embarrassed.

God. What a mess of a post this has been.