Sleeping Realities

There is nothing more beautiful than carrying the child of the man you love and bringing into existence a tangible proof of that sacred shared feeling. Childless as I am, I wonder in admiration at the Single Mother, so commonplace in our society. How can she look into eyes ever lost yet ever present and bear the constant company of half a person in constant absence? Does she behold that little face in comfort as a treasured memento? Does she love the better half left behind or secretly hate the worse half that haunts both waking and sleeping moments?  

I dreamt last night that I was pregnant and entering into the first stages of labour. My stomach would morph from a pouch of loose soft skin into a small, rounded shape that was so firm it felt as though my abdominal muscles had ballooned outwards. As I coursed from room to room through a house familiar yet unknown, I experienced a regular pain in my lower abdomen. No man was present, my mother was on her way, I wanted for nothing. I experienced each moment from within, eyes widened and senses alert with a fear of what was to come but also from afar with an intense sense of analytical intrigue. 

Biologically impossible as this is, there was nothing to question for sleeping realities will not be constrained by paradigms. And when dreams do magically lose their way into everyday reality, how often are others willing to accept them as truths? 

Nevertheless, for those few hours, I was unmistakeably with a child I was about to deliver, or perhaps to be delivered from. Upon my awakening, I was almost thankful for the lack of masculine presence for to carry Lol's child, even for a moment, even in a dream, might be too painful to bear.