The other night, I dreamt that we had another baby. Not that I was actively *having* it, but that - boom! - we had a second baby.**
I woke up, looked around, saw Genevieve, but not the other baby. I panicked.
"Andrew," I whispered, so as not to wake Genevieve, "Andrew!"
"What? Is she wet?" he asked, only partly awake.
"Where is the baby?" I asked, insistently. When he looked at Genevieve, I hissed, panicking, "The OTHER baby."
Andrew looked around, worried, then got up and started pulling the sheets off of the bed, looking for the missing baby as if it had slithered to the bottom of the bed like an errant sock.
After the bed was thoroughly checked, Andrew looked at me.
"Wait," I said, "I think we have just the one baby. We just have one baby, right?"
Andrew paused for a moment. "Yeah."
"Ok." I sighed, relieved, and we went back to bed.
**KidBrother Sam pointed out that this would be quite a feat, considering that Genevieve just turned eight months old on Monday.