Last night, probably because I looked at pictures of pregnant celebrities right before bed, I dreamed I was going to have a baby. It was apparently time to give birth, so I was put into this giant helicopter (the interior was more like that of a blimp) and quickly flown toward the hospital, along with my brothers and a few other people I can’t remember. There was a grizzled man in charge of the helicopter who kept reassuring me that all was well, but I was nervous because things didn’t seem quite right.
Finally at one point I looked down at my stomach and saw that it wasn’t sticking out nearly enough. It looked just like it looks now (which is much better than how it looked in a previous dream).
“How am I pregnant?” I yelled. “Where’s the baby?”
Everyone seemed to notice me for the first time. “Huh. I guess you’re not having a baby after all,” the grizzled man said. He told the helicopter pilot to turn around.
“If I have to pay for this helicopter ride, I’m going to be pissed,” I told my brother AJ.
“You shouldn’t have to,” he said.
“But I don’t have insurance.”
“You’d probably only have to pay if you did have insurance.”