My mom claims that she only started dreaming in color in her late 40s, after years of therapy. I've always had super vivid dreams -- seriously, if you are interested, ask me about the dream I had when I was 19 where I died and came back and talked to everyone, I remember it so minutely it is amazing (to me). When I got pregnant the dreams turned TECHNICOLOR BATSHIT WEIRD. For example: in my third trimester, I dreamt that I had sex with Will Farrell (not at all fun; actually, supremely icky) during an adventure dream that had Will and I racing through hotel corridors and sliding down hills, etc (that part was fun).
The ol' subconscious settled down a bit once Miss Addie started sleeping through the night, at about 4 months old. I relished those mundane nights -- dreaming about being back in college and the next day's to-dos and the like.
But then we got hit with the triple whammy of teething, illness, and vacations and HOO BOY is our sleep a mess. I can't complain because at least I had that little window of full nights of sleep. (and shhh...don't tell anyone but I love cuddling with my wee one when she is on her 3rd wakeup of the night, and the only thing that will calm her is my body curled around hers, her hand clutching a piece of my hair or my chin or whatever she can find to touch, it's just so sweet and soon she won't even let me into her room OMG MOM YOU ARE SOOO DISRESPECTFUL OF MY PRIVACY!!!)
But MAN have the whackadoo dreams returned in full, startling effect. The MOST recent bit o weird happened to feature everyone's favorite husband/wife blogger duo (no, not the Armstrongs), the Bielankos. You know, Thunderpie and The Girl Who. I have no idea how this crept into my mind-grapes, but very late one night, during a snack n' snooze session, suddenly Serge and Monica were starring in a very short zombie film in my head.
Holed up in an attic in an unnamed Western town, they were lying on the floor next to a ragged hole in the wall which lead to the floor below. The zombies were holding court downstairs, making all sorts of groany moany zombie-noises. Holding a rifle in one hand and a shovel in the other, Serge was sweaty and bug-eyed and determined to be the goddamn hero of the zombie war. Next to him, Monica was smiling, almost laughing, at something off-camera (maybe their baby Violet), either unconcerned because she thought Serge was overreacting or because she knew he would protect them. I wasn't omniscient enough to know which. There was a shortwave radio in the corner of the attic room, spitting out communications from other survivors of the zombie-apocalypse. Monica got up to go listen to the radio, and Serge hissed "I'm staying here to make sure none come up." She laughed and continued offscreen. And then I woke up.
Um. What? Should I go back to therapy? Or maybe spend less time reading blogs when I should be, you know, sleeping? Why is my brain so weird, internets?