February 28: Sweet Dreams

Bump is nearly 28 weeks. Normally, I lose count of the weeks but I know I’ve got a scan coming up, and that it’s a 28 week scan, so even with my confused, pregnant brain, I can do the math. I’m awake in the witching hour (wind again) so I lie on my bed and google ’28 weeks’ on my phone. How big are you now, Bump? What can you do? Can you jump? Can you skip? Are you happy? Suddenly, I need to know.
Who’d of thought it. Apparently, he can hic-up (though I’ve not felt any yet) and – get this - he can dream. I don’t know how scientists know this… tracking brain waves, I suppose, but there it is in black and white. Bump can dream. But what does he dream of if he knows nothing of the world? We adults can’t dream we’ve died apparently, because we don’t know what it’s like. What does Bump know, besides the darkness of my womb?
I know my dog dreams. He lies on his side after a long walk, stinking; muddy. First his paws begin twitching slightly, then gradually the movements get bigger and bigger until his legs are galloping wildly along the carpet. Somewhere in his fuggy brain, he must be chasing rabbits or sheep, or snapping at the sea waves.
Is this what Bump’s dreaming about, I think. Chasing rabbits? Or are his dreams the same as mine? I hope not, for his sake. I decide I should give him a party – swig a can of fizzy pop and scoff a block of cheddar before bedtime. Hic-ups and crazy dreams - a baby’s equivalent of White Diamond and a couple of E?