Countdown

Jenn once shared a dream, how "I was at Starbucks, but rather than order a no-whip frappuccino I ordered a vanilla late' with extra whip, but the barista couldn't seem to get it right and ..."

I kept waiting for something exciting to happen, some twist to make the dream interesting in any way to anyone but the dreamer, but it never happened. I yawned in a sort of exaggerated way and asked Jenn to tell me about her childhood stamp collection and how she was the fifth youngest member of the American Philatelic Society in the state of Oregon.

In other words, unless you're a Jungian therapist, there are very few things less interesting than hearing someone else's dream in detail. Nevertheless, here ya go:

Jenn and I are driving through the inner city of Milwaukee--the black side of town--admiring the gritty grace and realness of the run-down A-frames and tiled roofs.

"Wow," Jenn said, "This is really beautiful."

A door to one of the houses is open, and we enter unbidden. I feel nervous about what the owner might think, but Jenn smiles and walks ahead toward the center of the house. I'm standing in the kitchen. It's old and a little run-down, but clean. I glance down, and half-obscured beneath a drape is one of those baby bouncy-things. A small child--not quite an infant--with caramel skin and big eyes is looking straight ahead. I walk around to see the baby's face and we stare at each other. His/her eyes are big and sentient, and though I wondered where the baby's mother is, there is a sense of peace from the child. When Jenn and I reach the living room, the mother and owner of the house enter from the opposite doorway. I expect her to be alarmed to see us, but she merely looked sad.

We walk through to the other side of the house and peer out through a dilapidated screen door. In that magical way that dreams have, the baby is now out on the driveway with a group of other kids and a medium-sized pit bull. Though I pose no threat to the baby, the dog snaps and snarls at me, and attempts to lunge through the ripped screen door. I block it as best I can, but don't want to hurt the dog or be hurt by him. I merely want him to understand that I intend no harm.

I have no idea what this dream means. The baby symbology is obviously relevant, as is the house--dilapidated but beautiful. And if I substitute "sweet purring kitty" for "scary snarling dog," the pit bull might well represent Honey, our tan-colored love muffin.

On the other hand, maybe I do know what the dream means and am afraid to put it into words. I have said it before: I expect the birth of this child--my daughter--to change/demolish/cream everything I once thought I knew about myself. Not a bad thing, but obviously the ego views obliteration as some sort of threat. When I told Jenn that a friend of mine used this word--"obliterating"--to describe what it was like to become a parent, her very brave and sincere response was: "Sign me up."

Tom's reaction: Gulp!

Today is August 3rd. We are on the cusp of Zinnia Rain's entry onto the planet. Jenn has been having regular contractions/surges/twinges/what-have-you every five minutes throughout most of the day. They don't have the velocity or strength as to how we imagine "major" contractions to be, but more the quality of an orchestra warming up before the grand performance.

Jenn is uncomfortable, but doing well. I feel at peace, ready, and a little out of my body.

Thanks, everybody, for your comments and support.

Yee-haw! Gulp! Yee-gulp!