Bad Bed Fellow

I don't know if you know this or not, but I am a strange bed fellow to have, some might even say a bad bed fellow. I hog the covers and I Debo the real estate. (That's my bed, punk!) I have weird dreams, and I talk in my sleep.

Sometimes, I have dreams and then, when I wake up and the day goes on by, I can't be sure if what I dreamed was really a dream or if it was reality. On Saturday evening, I was feeding the boys some grub and Doug was eating an orange. Doug said, "I've never seen any orange baby food. I wonder why they don't make that." Sunday afternoon we went to Babies-R-Us and I bought the boys some baby food; they needed fruit, so that's what I bought. It was time to feed the boys dinner, and I said to Doug, "Hey, I found some orange baby food at Babies-R-Us...I think...did I dream that last night? Or did I actually buy some today?" I searched through the baby food. No orange. Twas a dream.

Another example of confusing dreams with reality involves one of my all-time favorite dreams. I was a freshman in high school, and after a long day at school, I came home and took a nap on the couch. I dreamed that Mommaw had made me some gingerbread. It smelled so heavenly and I could not wait to eat it! Then, I woke up. "Mom, bring me a piece of gingerbread, please!" "Gingerbread? We don't have any. Your Mommaw hasn't made gingerbread in forever. You must've dreamed it." Daggone! I thought my life was over, but wait....what's that? What's that you say? Oh, yes, that's right! My Mommaw is the most awesome Mommaw in the world. When she heard that I had dreamed about her gingerbread, why, she just whipped me up a batch! Oh, and it was delicious!

When I was in college, I would often wake up in zombie mode and go to our mini fridge on the hunt for BRAINS (read: orange gatorade). I would grab my beverage from the fridge, and then I'd wake up my poor roommate, my beloved pal, Eller, and ask her to open the bottle for me. Then, I'd inevitably announce some random tidbit from my dream, such as, "That's my lunch box, Brent!"

So, last night I had a zombie-state episode. Julian was screaming bloody murder. So loud that he woke ME up (that's really loud). I somehow managed to successfully get out of the bed and walk to the nursery without killing myself. Doug, of course, was already in there consoling our little babe. He said that I opened the door, saw that he was in there, said nothing, turned around and left. What a fright that must've been! Why am I so weird? But the best was yet to come. Doug finally got ole Jules settled and came back to bed. We had a conversation, supposedly, about what, I do not recall. Seconds later I was asleep, but then awake (if you can call it that) again to ask Doug, "Our cats never wore diapers, right?" And then, just like that, I was asleep again.