I gave birth during the night. By myself. I really don't remember the actual delivery, so this morning at 5:30 when the nurses still hadn't come in, I rang the call button and got a wrong number. This baby sure came early, and all I could think about was how we'd have to try and distinguish birthday celebrations from the Thanksgiving holiday (instead of Christmas, as expected). Eventually a nurse came around to find me holding a baby wrapped in a sheet, red and wrinkly and already as big as a 6-month-old.
"Oh my gosh! Did you have a boy or girl?"
"Oh, yeah! I forgot to look."
"Where is the placenta?"
"It's on the bed, wrapped in a sheet." And sure enough, the nurse unwrapped it and weighed it. The placenta, not the baby.
Then I racked my brain trying to remember what time the baby was born so we could properly assign a date of birth. Racking one's brain in the middle of a dream is hard work.
. . . . . .
Oh, and regarding the last paragraph of this post... To quell rumors that I'm having twins (I'm not), I found out that day that I'm likely going to need to find a new OB with less than 6 weeks to go. And also? I eat well, people! Please stop trying to force-feed me cookies to keep me from starving.