This weekend is Tim's birthday. He woke up this morning and told me he had a dream. Tim likes vanilla shakes and khakis; dreams feel like an unnecessary frill to Life, more like a task, to him. I was surprised when he said he had a dream, and a long, clear dream at that.
He dreamt the baby was born, and he delivered it. Was the baby all clean right after delivery, like in the movies, I wanted to know. No, Tim explained, the baby was slimy, yucky, and a tinge blue.
Figures.
Afterwards, though, was the baby OK?
Yes, Tim said. He was very happy because the baby was beautiful.
I smiled. I realized this gateway into Tim's subconscious may give the answer to our ultimate question. "Well," I wanted to know, "was it a boy or a girl?"
"I forgot to check."
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