Pregnant

In a horrifically realistic dream last night, I was pregnant. Not in the "oh-my-gosh-the-test-was-positive" way, either. I was 8 months pregnant.

And I had the cutest belly ever. Every now and then I became aware of my pregnancy; usually when I was drinking diet coke (a no-no), coffee (shit, that has caffeine in it too!), or alcohol (oh no, the baby is going to be deformed!). And then I realized that all 8 months I had been doing things pregnant women shouldn't do, and it might be too late to give the baby a pristine start. Then there was the fact that the baby never kicked.

When I realized that I was actually pregnant (and not just fat and hungry), I understood that I was "eating for two, now" and raided fridges. The hospital had a "pie floor" that was exactly as it sounds: an entire floor filled with racks upon racks of different pies.

And then there was the fact that I was pregnant. What the hell??? At eight months, abortion wasn't a consideration. I decided to put it up for adoption. Then The Ex arrived to tell me to keep the baby, to which I said "Why, are you going to marry me and take care of it?" He backed off, and then I looked down at my adorable little belly and freaked out: how could I give the baby away? I couldn't. What was I going to do? My future was ruined!

Then I woke up. And realized that I'm not pregnant!! Let's say that again: I'm not pregnant. How great is my life?

Then I wondered if maybe I should go on a diet.

I have plans to hang out with The Ex today, and so far I'm wavering between "it could be fine!" and "sometimes making out is just making out!" No matter what happens though, it will okay: I'm not pregnant.