Last night I had a sort of insanely weird dream. In between interludes of dining in a campus food court, sending my daughter off to be babysat by random sorority girls I’ve only met on Facebook, and arguing about naming conventions across generations, I was pregnant, and I delivered the baby in an incredibly easy labor (like, 2 minutes, at home). I declared her name was Hazel, and then I waited for the placenta to deliver, and it didn’t, so Justin and I called a doctor to come over to our house and check on me, at which point I was delivered of two more babies. Triplets. I was dream-pregnant with triplets.

There was a lot of oddball intervening stuff, but that’s the gist of it. I woke up shortly after looking at Justin and saying “we’re going to have to do bedtime differently now for Gwyneth because we have four children.”

I … I don’t want four children. Subconscious, you’re fired.


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