Last night Matt came home with the flu, so I made him take a hot shower and to go bed immediately after dinner. He wasn't tired yet, so I decided to hang out with him in the room and tell him about a weird dream I had the night before.
In my dream, I was in the hospital having a baby, and none of my friends or family came with me. During labor, I was really mad at them and yelling out how much I hated them all. When the baby finally came, I started struggling to take care of it, and somehow didn't know what to do. At first I didn't know how to feed it, and once I started feeding it I wasn't sure when to stop. Then, the baby and I were in a swimming pool and I kept forgetting to keep the baby's head above the water. (Note to anyone whose children I babysit: I will not accidentally drown or starve your child!)
After I was done telling Matt about my dream, I felt his head to see if he was still feverish. He looked up at me and said, "I know why I wasn't at the hospital in your dream. I was the baby!"
What would Freud say about that?
