Um, yeah.

Last night I dreamt about the baby for the first time.  I mean, I’ve had other dreams, but they basically involved me forgetting to feed or change the baby while I shopped for cute baby clothes at the Gap.  Not exactly about the baby – more about my adjustment to the idea of this not being a doll.

So anyway, for the first time last night, I dreamt I saw his face.  He had Magnus’s hair color and his eyes were a light greyish blue.  In the dream, the nurses held him up for me, and I looked into his eyes and felt this utter happiness.  In a way, looking into his eyes reminded me of looking into a three-way mirror and seeing reflections going on into infinity.  I don’t mean he was a reflection of me, just that I felt that kind of infinite continuation.  There was something ancient there.  He was so his own separate person and so real. 

I don’t remember much about the other features.  The dream was about his eyes, about meeting him and seeing who he was for the first time.

When I woke up this morning, I could look down and see the lump of his head just to the right of my belly button.  I put my hand over it and thought about him in there.  Right now, he does see infinity.  He’s looking at the universe of pre-existence.  He’s maybe vaguely aware of the outside world, but his world is so much smaller and so much larger at the same time.  I wonder if he dreams.

I’m reading this fabulous book by Anne Lamott called Operating Instructions:  A Journal of My Son’s First Year.  I’ve read some of her other things, and actually I’m not really all that moved by her novels for some reason.  But this is awesome!  I laughed out loud several times last night and subjected Magnus to at least three excerpts that he didn’t exactly have a burning desire to hear.

Anyway, it makes me think I should be writing more.  Actually, I know I should, but there seems to be this wall between where my head is now and the ability to string several thoughts together into a cohesive whole.  I’m not sure what that is.  Is pregnancy making me dumber?  Seriously, it probably does have something to do with hormones.  I just hope it isn’t permanent.

Also, Sam is going through a hellish experience with cancer.  That has very little to do with my not writing, except that I write drivel and then look at her blog (full of insightful, real thoughts), and I have to wonder what the hell I’m writing about.  Sure, forming a new life is very important and cool, but I’m not saying anything meaningful.  And Sam is fighting for her life and sharing it so beautifully with her readers.  Hard to explain, I guess.  I just feel like I should be doing the same thing, and yet, I can’t seem to do it.

So I’ve written this entire thing about not writing, but really, it feels good.  It’s something.  It’s not deep or important, but it really is how I’m feeling right now.