I never used to have weird dreams. Nightmares, yes, all the time when I was a kid and teenager, but never fun, weird, harmless dreams. That changed when I got pregnant. I had the most bizarre dreams almost every single night. I thought the dreams would stop when the pregnancy hormones finally left my system, but they haven’t really. I don’t get them every night any more, and they usually aren’t quite as strange as the ones I had during my pregnancies, but they still come with great frequency, and they are … odd. Usually fun, too, though sometimes not so much.
Last night I started out with an ordinary weird dream – hanging out in PA with some of our friends from back there, and Todd Eldredge, and all laughing and chatting and waiting for the wrecking ball to swing by and destroy the house down the street, and Todd found out and was picking on me for fangirl-ishly stalking him over the years (for the record, in real life, I’ve only seen him and asked him for a picture ONCE, and that was at the ’98 Worlds, and I was asking LOTS of the skaters for their pictures), and Colin Firth was singing this in the background.
(Just Colin and the guitar, though, No Rupert Everett and the piano, which makes me sad.)
Then the dream switched the that age-old stand-by: I had emerged from a long series of dark tunnels (which in real life would send me into a claustrophobic coma, but didn’t seem to faze me in my dream) and needed to get through a ballroom filled with people waiting for a wedding to start in order to reach the hotel lobby and complete my secret mission. And I was only in my underwear.
No, really. I had that stereotypical dream of being at a wedding in my underwear. I didn’t even have that dream when I was stressed out from planning my own wedding; I don’t know why I would have it now!
The really interesting thing is, though, is that I was not embarrassed or ashamed. I don’t remember the reason I was in my underwear, but whatever it was, it wasn’t my fault, and so I stood straight and tall and simply walked through that ballroom without even blushing. I got to the end, and everyone was whispering and shocked, and I spun around and announced “If it bothers you all so much, then maybe one of you could lend me a shawl or something?”
And someone did, so I wrapped myself in that and went to the lobby, delivered my message, was given some clothes by one of the guys there, said hi to Todd (who apparently felt the need to pop back into my dream just for a brief moment, thankfully after I had pulled on the jeans and black t-shirt), and then left to go help my dad judge swimming trials for the Olympics.
I enjoyed the entire dream, but I’m still pondering over me not being at all bothered by my lack of clothing in front of well-dressed strangers. I’m wondering if it indicates an increase in self-confidence? The fact that after two kids my sense of modesty has completely altered (hey, you try having kids wandering in and out of the bathroom while you’re on the toilet and not have your sense of modesty shift)? Maybe that I’m willing to be more honest in my writing and not worry so much about people misjudging me as I did when I was younger?
Or just the result of that glass of red wine I had with dinner?