Ready?

In my first dream he was born, and blond.

I worried that I wasn’t taking good enough care of him,

but he reassured me calmly

in the high, lilting tones of an ancient Mayan language

that my efforts were adequate.

He was more of a visiting spirit than my child.

I woke humbled.

In my second dream, I miscarried.

The tiny proto-infant slipped out of me with my pee.

I looked at it in the palm of my hand—gently moving, still,

but I knew it would not survive.

Seemed wrong to flush it down the toilet,

but I couldn’t take it out with me—

I left him in the bathroom sink,

and woke flushed with shame.

In my third dream, I went to the hospital on my due date.

Five of my friends were also there in the same room, giving birth—

one by one, the doctor helped them deliver,

handed them their babies,

and sent them away.

Finally it was only me. He came to my birthing chair to examine me.

He said, you’re not even in labor! What are you doing here?

I said, but, it’s my due date…

He said, you know it doesn’t work that way,

and sent me home with nothing

but a patronizing pat.

I got lost after leaving the hospital

and woke lonely.

In my fourth dream, I went into labor.

My husband had just gone away somewhere, so I

drove myself to the hospital.

I arrived and remembered that they had said not to come

right away, that in this first stage of labor, I was to stay at home, take a walk.

I sat in my car and wondered what to do.

I woke uncomfortable, tired of being careful.

In my next dream, surely, I will dance with my baby, or maybe

labor will be orgasmic and easy, or maybe

I will give birth and have a revelation about

dependency & connectedness. Maybe

an ecstatic moment

with the earth in my womb?

I would like to wake

full of mamawisdom and peace.

Sip my coffee

with the smugness of knowing

love beyond this world.

I’m ready.

Really.