I had a dream the other night that Dave and I had a baby. A girl.
We were also pirates.
This baby had a HUGE melon head. I mean, not, you know, deformed huge, but bigger than expected. And we couldn’t figure out what to name her.
Okay, wait… not pirates. Spies. Or working for spies. Or running from spies. Something along those lines.
Regardless, we had this baby, and we couldn’t decide on a name. Mostly because she kept vetoing all of them. Of course my kid has an opinion on her name. And we didn’t want to give her our girl’s name, (you know, that perfect, perfect name you pick out while discussing your hypothetical children?) mostly because it didn’t fit, and mostly, for reasons unknown, we didn’t get to keep her.
I never found out why we didn’t get to keep her. Dinah stepped her tiny little kitty paws that support her now fat, fat kitty ass right on my bladder, forcing me from my slumber to prevent wetting the bed and determining why I could kept my melon-headed baby.
Now, the point of this tale.
I’ve spent the past few days since haunted by the thought of my melon-headed baby. Not that I couldn’t keep her. I’m sure that was my brain’s way of telling me “Dude, dreaming.”
But that I think I want her. I mean, I’m SO NOT READY.We are SOOOOOO NOT READY.
But I was a little bummed out when I woke up to find out that my melon-head, opinionated baby girl sans name was just something my brain made up.