Night Terror

The young man pointed at me, shouting "She's wearing a pink shirt! She's a pink shirt!" I ducked underwater and removed my top, putting the salmon colored cloth under the dock upon which the rat stood. "There!" I said, and pointed down at my.. pink shirt. How the hell did I still have one on? I didn't understand. About then, my husband scooped me up and put me back the kayak we had moored at the dock. We were but one of thousands, if not more, kayaks and row boats hiding under the dock, Bimini tops unfolded, trying to conceal our identities. The Nazi like military that hovered over us in their helicopters scanned our group of frightened refugees. The boat next to us inched out from under the safety of the dock's over hang. It was then I realized this was no ordinary boat. This boat was equipped with machine guns and artillery that would have made a 1940's gangster shiver. I heard myself shriek when the man squeezed the trigger aiming at the hovering helicopters above us. They then returned fire.

My eyes snapped open at the sound of my husband's voice, calling to me from the shower asking about a fresh towel. It took me a minute to adjust, and to realize I wasn't under attack from a Nazi regime, and that, in fact, I was cozied up in my sheets on an overstuffed mattress. It's nightmares like these that I keep having. Every night, something else. Before transitioning to the ocean standoff, I was digging bodies out of my back yard.

A few nights ago, I didn't have a head, and had to carry around my eyes in my hands to see.

Weird.

Par for the course, apparently. Studies have shown that pregnant women are more likely to have vivid dreams, often nightmares, brought on by the surge of hormones. What strikes me is how realistic these dreams are.

Twenty minutes after waking, I was in my laundry room ironing Husband's shirts. He had been calling my name repeatedly, but I never recognized it. Instead, I was lost in comparing my dream to the story line of Inglorious Bastards (One hell of a good movie, might I add). I finished my ironing, and came out of the room. As I turned to close the door behind me, Husband came down the stairs to make sure I was indeed still alive, as I hadn't responded once. He hit the bottom of the stairs as I was turning to make my way thru the room.

He looked at me. I looked at him. There was a pause. His expression was confused, but I know it only mirrored mine. Then I heard shrieking. Blood curdling screaming. It was me! WHY!? I jumped back and stopped. He looked even more confused. Then laughed. I laughed. I cried. I cried harder. He didn't understand why. Why did I scream? Why did I laugh? Why did I cry? The only thing I knew for certain is I was crying because I had piss running down the insides of my legs. Seriously. Husband coming to check on my safety scared the piss out of me.

So here's what I know: I have awful scary dreams that I try to rationalize while preforming household chores. Still lost in thought over scary dreams, Husband comes to check on me. I see him and scream. I start laughing. I am laughing over the ridiculousness of my screaming. I am crying. I am crying because I have pee streaming down my legs.

I have 22 weeks left of this!