I dreamed last night that I gave birth.
It was prolonged, and laborious. I kept moving my body around to different positions. I knew I could give birth to my child at anytime, but fear of actually pushing the child out kept me back from the final exertions.
After a while, I decided I'd had enough of the preliminary agony and began the final labor. Very shortly, I watched as my child crowned. Intense fear and disbelief vied for my emotions. I thought, surely this must kill me.
But then, I remembered, in the strange way that one does in a dream, that this was my second child. I had done this before and surely I could do it again. So I gave the final push and his entire head and then his shoulders appeared. And then my entire baby slipped from me and his father caught him, and his mother cut the cord.
Now, what could that mean?
I think it has to do with the move. Birth dreams usually signify massive changes in life, the beginning of a new phase. That would make sense, because this is the second move since getting married.
But what about that sensation of control? I had no real control over the move. Maybe that had to do with my acceptance of the move. I gave in to its reality, at last, after ignoring it, even up to the very last week.
It's a misty morning. The weather here is very beautiful, if one can ignore the temperature. There's wind and breezes that smell of honeysuckle. The evenings are long and sunny and tempt a person to sit around outside dreaming and thinking themselves better off than they really are, in the harder light of truth.
I can't concentrate on my blogging; Keith keeps coming in and out of the main area, wearing nothing but tattered green shorts and sneakers and asking me stuff. It's our first Saturday morning here and we were up, by force of habit, by seven thirty.
The kitchen is done, although small, annoying things remain stubbornly misplaced, malingering on counter tops, cluttering up the peace.
