The other night, the last night before returning home from a visit at my parent’s new house, I had a really odd dream.
I was pregnant but the baby wasn’t growing. Â There was a problem with my heart that was preventing normal growth. Â My heart wasn’t strong enough to fuel it. Â It was odd that no one seemed concerned that my health might be in danger, and no one seemed concerned for the baby either. Â It was just a fact:Â I was pregnant with a baby that wasn’t growing because my heart wasn’t strong enough.
Pregnant, again. Â That’s what everyone was telling me, it’s what they believed and were convinced of. Â For a while, I went along with it, but eventually it dawned on me that there was no way for me to be pregnant. Â My dream self was going through my recent sexual encounters. Â No chances of pregnancy. Â I hadn’t been to any clinics for that purpose either. Â I was perplexed. Â I began to doubt the assumption everyone (my wife, friends, family) had that I was pregnant.
I started to smoosh, and move and manipulate my giant belly, trying to figure out what was in there, cuz I was convinced it wasn’t a baby. Â It wasn’t a hard, continuous mass the way my previous pregnancies had been. Â As I moved and dug in with my hands, I could feel distinct lumps of different sizes… one larger one that acted like an umbrella over the center of my belly and a couple of smaller ones underneath.
There is a lot of symbolism with pregnancy: nurturing and nourishing and birthing a new entity. Â There has certainly been a lot of birthing and rebirthing in my life recently. Â So, I wonder, what is this new birthing that my heart doesn’t have the strength for?
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