When we returned from Disneyland, I discovered that my fur baby wasn’t doing so hot. Fur baby isn’t entirely accurate. She’s a best friend. My relationship with her is not more meaningful than my marriage or my family relationships. But it’s a lot more simple and pure. When she is well, her entire purpose in life is 1) to make me happy and 2) to play. When she is sick, my entire purpose in life is keeping her alive. Incredibly selfish, if you do the math. But she’s family.
Her condition worsened over the weekend, and to make a long story short, she spent the night under a heat blanket, hooked up to IVs at the animal hospital. Getting her safe and warm and in capable hands was relieving. I had spent the whole weekend crying. Not just tearing up, but noisy, guttural, ugly weeping. I knew I adored my dog. But the threat of losing her taught me how much.
After a sleepless night, I took a much needed nap. Now, I don’t want to sound too metaphysical and woo-woo, but I have, more than once, received comfort or revelation from a dream. Like that crazy cat-baby one you may have read about. I don’t know if it’s God sending me Lehi-like visions or just my brain’s way of sorting out problems that are too difficult for waking hours. So cynical as I may be, I believe in my dreams. At least the parts that aren’t completely insane, like detonating bombs or making out with people I haven’t thought about since middle school.
So anyway, during my nap I dreamed that I was walking through a classy version of a state fair. I passed by entertainment booths, shopping booths, and political action groups. People tried to persuade me to come to their booth, but I respectfully declined. Instead, I walked purposefully to the building where I was about to deliver my first child. My dog was by my side, healthy and happy. I was happy. Hugely pregnant, I was gorgeous. I was at peace. Before labor and delivery, I met up with DH at the cafeteria of the building–which by the way had excellent pastries and soul food dishes. We consumed them with glee and I woke up.
Family and food. It was like a dream dream. The kind of aspirational yet comforting dream that cheesy Disney songs are about. Well. . . all except for the part where I had to tell a gay man that he couldn’t have my Napoleon. That part was just insane. 🙂