Alright, any of you dream interpreters or budding psychologists out there are going to have a field day on this one.
Last night I had a dream in which I was giving birth. It was as real as real could be and blow me down I could even feel contractions and the baby coming out and everything.
Sorry a little too graphic?
Anyway, for some reason my son's rugby manager was the midwife and as we were getting down to the business end of things and right at the moment that I began to scream and pant, she sends my husband down to the kiosk to buy cat food.
So despite my protests and threats about ripping his arms from his torso, he obliges and heads down to buy the cat food, at which stage I go into full blown labour and the midwife slash rugby manager tells me it's time to push.
Now this is where you can tell I really was only dreaming, because one push later and the baby pops out.
Only it wasn't a baby.
It was a goose, or more specifically I guess, a gosling.
Moments later, as they are handing me my little baby goose my husband walks back into the room with an arm full of Whiskas and everyone starts patting him on the back like he just won the World Cup Qualifiers and I'm all "Hey don't mind me, I'm just lying over here with my goose".
I can strongly recall the disappointment and sense of feeling ripped off that all the other women around me were popping out normal human babies and I just had a goose, but the biggest disappointment I felt came from the realisation that I just gave birth to a male goose.
I couldn't even freaking have a girl goose could I?
Nooooooo it was yet another male to outnumber me and I had images in my head of my future where I was serving prawn Toasts and Dim Sims to my husband, 3 human son's and my baby goose son whilst they watched the State of Origin.
And so I did what I guess most Mums do after giving birth to a goose, I cried.
The midwife ushered everyone out of the room so I could bond with my goose. I'm looking at this thing in its stripy flannel blankie and I'm thinking, well I suppose your hungry aren't you? And it's looking back at me with its big yellow beak and big brown eyes like "ummm der yeah Mum".
So I pop my boob out and prepare myself for the pain of this goose latching on for a feed. And yet surprisingly it is NOT painful and I am proud of how quickly we both pick it up.
When the midwives and the Obstetrician return with a load of uni students in tow they find me sitting there peacefully feeding my newborn male goose and they all start laughing at me, like really mean taunting laughs and I could hear them saying "OMG this moron is actually breastfeeding a goose".
And then I woke up.
So go on then you budding Freuds. What's your take on this? Is this dream a symbol of my insecurities over my parenting abilities? Or is it just confirming what we all suspected anyway - that I am a total nut job?
I'm interested to hear your take on it, but please don't tease me about the breastfeeding bit. Clearly I was just trying to do the best thing for my goose.