Childfree And Dreaming About Babies

Last night, I had a very unusual dream, one I’ve never had before. I normally dream about the same things sorts of things. I dream about zombies, about my boyfriend being angry with me, and about short haircuts that I instantly regret.

I often dream about finding a new room in my home that I’d previously never known about. Usually, it’s finding a room above my attic in the home that I grew up in. Last night’s dream was a bit different, as it took place in my new home which my BF and I live in, and the new rooms are found below my basement. These rooms are always well lit and fully furnished in my dreams. In last night’s dream, not only were the sub basement rooms fully furnished, but they were also decorated for Halloween.

But that’s not the unusual dream that I’m talking about – that was a different one. I already said that the dream that I want to talk about was an unusual one for me, and if read you the title of this post, you’ve already figured out what it was about. Last night, for the first time (as far as I remember, anyway,) I had a dream about a baby. Not just any baby, my baby.

My dream started when the baby was already a few days or weeks old. I couldn’t really tell. I’m not sure, but I think it was a boy. I don’t remember him having a name in my dream so here I’ll call him Imagi-Gary.  I don’t know how Imagi-Gary came to be. Neither pregnancy nor birth were part of my dream. Also conspicuously absent from my dream was my boyfriend, or anyone else who could have possibly been the father. In the dream, that evidently wasn’t a problem as it wasn’t mentioned. There was simply no man in the dream. It may as well have been a virgin birth.

Well, at least I had my family with me. In my dream, I was living in the home that I grew up in, wondering what effect being a very young aunt and an uncle would have on my two siblings. I fretted about whether I was setting a bad example by having a baby. I wondered if they’d have kids too.

I held Imagi-Gary in my arms, looking down at him as he stared back at me, with his big, round eyes. He had a disproportionately large head, as babies do, with a thin covering of short hair, as babies do. He was blonde, like my brother, and had the same blue eyes that run in my family. He looked like any other baby, having chubby pink cheeks, a tiny nose, and tiny ears. There wasn’t anything really remarkable about him. You can picture him well enough in your head, I imagine. You see one baby and you’ve pretty-much seen them all.

He wasn’t screaming or crying in my dream, which is good as baby noise is something that I absolutely can not stand. Instead, he was laying mostly quietly, squirming slightly and doing that baby gurgle thing a bit. He rested is head against my body, and seemed to reach up at me slightly with a tiny, pudgy hand. I don’t know how old babies have to be to reach, but as it was a dream, it doesn’t much matter.

I guess most women would be happy to have a dream about being a mother. About holding an infant in their arms. About bringing life into the world. About watching their progeny grow up. About all those “Kodak moments” of first steps, first words, birthdays, first day of school, graduation, and so on. And their dream is more than the random imaginings of their sleeping mind, but a real goal. I’ve seen plenty of women obsess over babies, over being mothers. Truthfully though, I think the media tends to exaggerate this aspect of women’s lives.

In my dream, I was not happy. I was miserable. I don’t like babies. While other people might think babies are cute, I don’t see  it. I even think they’re pretty gross. In my dream, Imagi-Gary drooled and shit himself, to my revulsion. He didn’t do much else. He couldn’t do much else. He was a barely aware and helpless infant. I couldn’t even have a meaningful conversation with him. He was not interesting in the slightest. He was as boring to me as any other baby.

I can only imagine how I would have felt in my dream if he was hollering and having diaper blowouts, if I was miserable even when he was uncharacteristically well-behaved for a baby.

I saw him much as I saw a ball and chain, something I was now tethered to and would miss out on life because of. At least a weighty ball would have carried less pathogens and wouldn’t scream at night and wouldn’t drain my finances. A baby was a far worse burden. I was a slave to something as interesting and useful to me as a sack of rocks. The baby was innocent, but I resented it anyway.

In my dream, I wondered how the hell this happened. I remembered that I had been sterilized, so I couldn’t imagine how I’d gotten pregnant in the first place. Even more strange was that I had kept it. I didn’t know why I hadn’t gotten an abortion, but in my dream, I was sorely wishing that I had. I further wondered why I hadn’t put Imagi-Gary up for adoption immediately after birth. The most horrifying thing about my dream wasn’t the baby itself, it was being robbed of choice. That is what made this a nightmare. 

Well, it still wasn’t too late, I decided I’d give Imagi-Gary up for adoption and get on with my life, only regretting that Imagi-Gary existed at all. That was the end of the dream.

My dream was more like I nightmare to me. The media always makes parenthood look so heavenly, as do exaggeration parents.  I think when most women imagine having a baby, they romanticize it, thinking of their perfect, adorable Kodak moments. I do not. What I saw was a small glimpse of what my reality would be, how I’d really feel, should I somehow find myself a mother. And I was miserable.

Yet bingo-ers tell me that I secretly do want kids and am just saying I don’t to be contrarian and rebellious, that I don’t want kids because I’m corrupted by evil feminism (lol!) that all women want kids, that it’s different when they’re my own, that I’ll love them when they’re here, that I’ll change my mind and go on and have kids someday, or that I’ll regret not having kids. My conscious and evidently my subconscious mind disagree with them.

To me, having a baby means misery, poverty, missed opportunities, burden, servitude, restriction, and a ruined life. My view might not be common, or if it is, it’s not much talked about, but I know that I am not alone in having it. More importantly, I know I am not wrong about how I choose to live my life. 

Posted on 2011/10/17, in childfree, Diary, Feminism, Prochoice. Bookmark the permalink. 3 Comments.

  1. When I turned 24, I started having dreams that I was breast feeding. I also started having dreams that I had my hand on the back of a sleeping, breathing baby, and in my dream, I felt COMPLETE AS A WOMAN! ahaha, I would always wake from these dreams and be like ” I was having the most wonderful dream…..i want to go back to sleep..what was it about….oh…EEEEWWW!!!” So this I guess is that biological ticking clock. It seems horrible that people throw away their free time, relationships, vast sums of money, and their figure, for this evolutionary throw back.

  1. Pingback: No Offense « The Hiking Humanist

  2. Pingback: Motherhood: The Nightmare « The Hiking Humanist

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