I had a dream last night that I went into labor, but my dream was nice to me and skipped the dramatic part about how I got there and what arrangements were made for the boys and even avoided that part about the giant needle I choose to have inserted into my back. It plunked me right into the delivery room with scrubbed up nurses and some doctor with a face I never saw.
But somehow in this dream birthing was more like pulling groundhogs out of their hole. And a t.v. was on and Mike was reading a book. He was brilliantly blasé about the whole thing, like oh another birth, pfffft, whatev.' And they kept pulling out babies. Three of them to be exact. And the third was trying to swim into my neck or something, it didn't want to come out. So it was this really crazy thing where I didn't understand how no one ever knew there would be three. And Mike was still reading a book like pshaw, three babies, such a bore and I had some doctor climbing inside my body to get out that third stubborn baby. And I wasn't mad at Mike for being removed for some reason in this dream, or uncomfortable that my body was a mini hotel for so many people (including this doctor walking around my uterus trying to catch the third), and there wasn't any pain. I was just trying to figure in my mind out how to get all those car seats into our car so we could take them all home.
Needless today, I'm not one for practical jokes on April Fool's. Too much planning. But my dreams seem to think it's a great time to be funny.