Oh, It’s Tuesday: The Freaks Come Out at Night

I don’t want to complain any more than I already have about my first trimester of pregnancy. But alas I fear that it’s in my very core nature. I’ve mentioned before that I’m a terrible sick person, which is why I think I rarely get sick — being a kind deity, perhaps God wanted to spare my loved ones and therefore decreed me off-limits to most colds, flus, and other sicknesses that are just annoying for some but seemingly unbearable for me.

And indeed, as if motivated to stop me whining about it, my morning sickness has faded to the point that I enjoyed a full appetite during Thanksgiving and was able to ride the waves with my trusty ginger gum. Also, I’ve actually learned to work my fatigue into my general schedule in the form of naps.

But now a new (though common pregnancy) problem has reared its head: Nightmares.

I think I’ve had about two nice dreams over the past two weeks. The rest have been beyond terrible. So far my newborn baby has been kidnapped from the hospital and taken hostage by evil men with machine guns (2 separate dreams). And, I myself, have been chased by zombies in a small town, scared into submission by invading aliens, been told that the last super-boring writing project that I’ve been working on at work will now go on indefinitely, woken up crying because the head of my grad writing program had died, and perhaps worse of all, been the sad sack wife of a Mad Man.

My husband was sympathetic about all but the last one, snorting and saying, “I don’t think you have to worry about that, honey.”

At first I thought he might have said this because of the lack of black women featured as wives of white ’50s-era ad men. But then as I stumbled downstairs after my early evening nap to a dinner which he had prepared after a solo trip to Trader Joe’s while I was sleeping, it occurred to me that he might have meant something else.


Photo Credit: Maria Johnson – flickr.com