During the day, things have been pretty quiet around the Palmer house for the past few weeks. Thanks to morning sickness (a total misnomer if ever there was one), I’ve been tapping into my inner hobo and logging most of my hours on the couch or in bed, while watching Jacob play. (Poor kid has become an expert in independent playtime.)
Despite my countless lazy hours, I can’t say that things have been completely boring around here. In fact, it’s once I close my eyes at night that things really start hopping.
For example, while I’ve been fast asleep in bed, I’ve been stalked by man-eating snakes, appeared in a Broadway musical, watched my sweet family turn into extreme goth-types and ran into an ex-boyfriend who offered me a job at my old college.
That last one doesn’t sound so strange—until I tell you I ran into him in my bedroom closet, he was accompanied by my husband and an old high school professor, and he happened to be only two-years-old with a full-grown man voice at the time.
It just doesn’t get any creepier than that, folks.
At least it didn’t until a few nights ago when I had a dream that I was hobnobbing with A-list actors. Ok, so maybe “hobnobbing” is a stretch. What really happened was I killed Morgan Freeman in a freak bicycle accident then hired my suddenly hippie brother-in-law, who happened to be living in a motorhome at the time, to help clear my name.
I woke up before the trial. Thank goodness.
After all of my night-time drama, I was getting a little worried about my inner self. Clearly, my subconscious must have has some major issues, right? Not necessarily.
Turns out, accidentally killing Morgan Freeman in my dreams does not make me a freak. It makes me a completely normal pregnant lady. I know this because I Googled it. And, they’re not allowed to put anything on the Internet that isn’t true.
Incidentally, I learned that from a State Farm commercial on television. They’re also not allowed to put anything that’s not true on television—unless it’s first labeled “reality TV” or a direct quote from a politician. (Like weird dreams, they also say cynicism can be a direct result of pregnancy).
But, I digress.
Although my crazy dreams have helped liven up a dull routine, they’ve kept me on edge more than they’ve amused me. I’ll be relieved when my nighttime hours are as boring as my waking hours again. And, I have a feeling if Morgan Freeman ever comes across this post, I won’t be the only one.*Photo from celebritybabyscoop.com