I dreamt we had a baby, and it had huge blue grey manatee eyes and asked a lot of questions. And we fought sometimes, and laughed sometimes, and I got sad when you got sad. And we carried him on our backs up mountains, and on subway cars. And he had big lips and would cry the deepest cries, cry scales, and make noise, and keep time on a plastic drum. And we weren't ajways happy, and we weren't always sad, and we (the manatee baby and I) would make pancakes when you slept in, tired from work. I'd let you sleep in. Let you dream.
And this is odd, an odd thing to wake me, an odd thing to say, to call you and say. Not because it couldn't happen, because anything could, but because someone else is dreaming of an actual baby - with real eyes, and sadness, happiness, slings, and breakfasts, and that's hers. It's tangible, almost, it's a thought that could be real for her, a wanted day dream that she deserves to piece together to have ownership in. I don't have that. This was just an image that woke me one night, of huge manatee eyes that looked like you and me . It's been a while so I forget what your eyes look like, but they were ours I guess. Yours and mine.
But the truth is it woudn't work. I wouldn't let you sleep in, I'd need your help and wake you.