More Fun With Dream Interpretation

I woke up this morning remembering parts of a dream that involved Sonic's having a new breakfast burrito featuring steak, bacon, eggs and cheese. I think there were hash browns in there, too, but it was fuzzy. So this morning I decided to try to stave off the pukeys with a protein-and-carb-fest, and stopped at Sonic, and -- TA-DA -- there it was, the steak bacon & egg burrito.

(Insert Handel's "Messiah" here.)

It was delicious. And special thanks to Sonic for making their tots as un-greasy as possible this morning. That helped. Now I'm sucking on my sunrise smoothie and feeling like it's all going to stay put.

I have to say, I don't remember feeling this generally shitty while pregnant with Bob. For the past two weeks, I've felt either hungover or like I'm coming down with the flu. I also feel like I've done little more than yell at Bob all the time, because I don't feel like doing much else. Which could, perhaps, explain the other dream from last night.

My mother (who knows why) and I went to Bob's parent/teacher conference. Bob was there, too. I'd been under the impression he'd been doing great, but upon arriving at the class, I noticed a "color chart" on the wall. Each kid had a color block for each day, depending on their behavior. Blue and green were the desired colors, but Bob's line was a straight study in red--the least desirable color. And I was pissed. Then Bob climbed into a wading pool (don't ask where that came from) and I hauled him out and dragged him to the restroom, where I beat the crap out of him. I'm talking, picking him up and banging him against the stall wall. Slapping him. Biting the tip of his nose (and leaving a mark).

I think the last time I slapped Bob in real life was when he was almost 3, he didn't want to go to his preschool class, so he ran in, wrapped his arms around me, and bit me--hard, right under my belly button. I slapped him in the face, hard, mostly out of sheer reaction than anything. It was one of those things I regretted as soon as I realized what I'd done, but it was more an instinct reaction to the pain of having preschooler teeth cutting through the flesh of my belly. (Yes, he broke the skin, through a sweater.) Obviously I've never slammed him up against any walls and I've certainly never bit him.

But I woke up this morning feeling just awful. What was the worst part about the dream was how incredibly angry I was. Not that I've been angry at Bob lately, but I've definitely been frustrated, and my fuse has been cut tremendously short due to constant nausea and exhaustion.

So this morning, I tried to tell him I love him, and it may seem like all I've done is yell lately--

"Shhh, Mommy, I can't hear the t.v."

Okay. Guess I haven't scarred you for life yet. Good talk, son. Good talk.

In other news, I'm trying to decide whether or not to see a doctor about my wrist. I've had problems with my right wrist being sore for, hell, I don't know--a year? Maybe longer? I really can't remember any specific injury, but given my serious lack of grace and balance, I'm sure there are several possibilities. At any rate, it's kind of come and gone--it'll be sore for a few days, and I'll have a hard time bending it in certain positions (like to fasten a bra), then it'll get better, but never really 100%. The past week, it's been really sore. And I've noticed a pretty significant loss of motion. Then Tuesday, our trash people at work left the dumpster hanging half out of its little corral, and I was trying to shove it back in and close the doors, so I pushed the doors--and put a lot of strain on that wrist. Since then, the pain has gotten worse, especially at night. But does it warrant a trip to another orthopod? Maybe I'll try to suck it up til next year, and hopefully exhaust our deductible with it well before Moosebaby's arrival.