Analyze This

I've had some phenomenaly wierd dreams this pregnancy, but none quite as disturbing as the one I had last night. In the dream, I was in front of a small audience and had for some reason been given the task of preparing a large cut of pork. The meat was odd-looking, sort of iridescent and purple, glistening under the harsh overhead lights. As I began to saw away, attempting to manuever two blunt knives around the hulking form, the audience grew agitated and started to scream.

"Pull it!!" they chanted. "Pull it, pull it, pull it!!!!"

They wanted me to pull the pork, not slice it. Try as I might, I could not figure out how to do this with two knives and luckily I woke up before things got really ugly.

I cannot begin to imagine from what subsconscious depths this material comes. Too much Top Chef? I don't think so--the worst you'll see on that show is some bleeped-out cursing, muttered after someone's cauliflower mousse doesn't end up with enough bacon essence, or something. Maybe it's a labor anxiety dream--like instead of everyone chanting "Push!"?

I don't know. Any dream analysts out there?

37 weeks

You know you're in a bad way when you start to resent not just individuals but entire species. The other day Sydney and I were browsing through one of her Highlights magazines when we came across a section devoted to different types of birds and their respective nests. Sydney wanted to know why there were eggs in the nests and as I explained to her that baby birds come from eggs which come from their mommies' bodies, I saw her glance at my belly. "People carry their babies in their tummies until its time for them to be born," I told her, "like Mommy has Baby Evan in her tummy. But birds get to lay eggs and so they don't carry their babies for very long in their tummies."

She seemed to accept this and we moved on. What caught me was my use of the word "get." Mommy birds get to lay eggs. How I hated those birds, with their svelte figures and smug expressions, dozing ever so peacefully atop their brood. But not as much as I hate mice, with their beady eyes and 20-day gestations. I might be tempted to add dogs and cats to the list, as they're only pregnant for about 2 months, except they also have to squeeze out an entire litter, which I don't envy in the slightest. Nor do I hate the elephants, who are forced to carry their spawn for almost two years--the mere thought of which makes me want to eat an entire box of ice cream sandwiches and take a nap.

The next day we took Sydney to the zoo, where I found myself enthralled by the elephants. Poor girls. If I were them I'd want to stomp the shit out of some birds.

Seriously?

I subscribe to a couple of pregnancy e-newsletters, not as much for the information--which tends to run along the lines of "you're probably having a lot of heartburn this week" and "you might want to start a dialogue with your doctor about what type of childbirth experience is right for you"--as for the opportunity to remind myself that I am actually making progress. Last week, however, one of the newsletters offered a section on the topic of sex during pregnancy, with this rather bewildering piece of information:

If you engage in oral sex, your partner should not blow air into your vagina. Blowing air can cause an air embolism (a blockage of a blood vessel by an air bubble), which can be potentially fatal for mother and child.


Now, I don't know about you, but I have a hard time imagining how something like this might actually become a part of a couple's sexual repertoire. I mean, seriously.