Before I was even through the first trimester of my second pregnancy, I had a very profound dream that I was carrying a girl.
I was walking along Court Street in Brooklyn when I spotted an indigenous looking man walking a few dogs and a cat on a leash. He had long black hair and was wearing beaten up khakis, Birkenstock’s and donned a fanny pack in the front.
As with most people who have one or more dogs on a leash, I approached him. Jason trailed me, not the least bit thrilled I was about to strike up a conversation with a stranger, and one who looked a little nutty to boot.
I can’t remember what we spoke about, but I do remember crouching down to pet his well-behaved animals. When I got up to leave, he pulled a small sack from his fanny pack. He opened it up and told me to choose one. I reached inside and pulled out a stone that he then held up in the day sky. A ray of pink shone through. He looked at me and said without hesitation, “it’s a girl.”
I’m not sure if I said anything back, but I remember so clearly Jason’s reaction. It was one of amazement, disbelief and skepticism. He muttered, “but how…” and that’s all I really remember from this dream.
