A bit of white milk rafting
I often find myself staring at my tiny three week old daughter, wondering what on Earth she can be dreaming about. It baffles me! Her dreams seem so lively, but she hardly knows anything! All she really knows is the inside of my wife’s uterus, that breasts are delicious and a tiny portion of Budapest (the city in which we live). One thing is for certain. She’d be a rubbish ‘Phone a Friend’ on Who Wants to Be a Millionaire. She probably doesn’t even know that the UK recently had a referendum to decide whether or not to stay within the European Union! (tuts).
Or maybe I’ve got it all wrong. Maybe she knows more than she’s letting on. Maybe she’s been absorbing the world like a glorious little sponge during her three weeks on Earth. Maybe her dreams are wild and vivid. Maybe she travels to faraway lands and meets fantastical beasts when her little lids close. Maybe her dreams go a little something like this…
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Dreaming of nipples or dreaming about riding her trusty, stuffed companion, Rufus, through the wild jungles of Mexico?
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Trying to stretch out some trapped wind, or is she in fact flying over the Himalayas like a fleshy, baby plane?
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Dreaming about her traumatic birth or dreaming about dancing with pink, dancing sheep on the sandy beaches of Kokomo?
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Daydreaming about having her nappy changed or is she dreaming about being The Even Littler Mermaid, exploring a coral reef?
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Dreaming about having another go on her bouncer, or dreaming about crossing a river in a faraway forest with the aid of her trusty, stuffed, pink giraffe, Juan Sebastian?
I guess we’ll never know! Although thinking about it, she’s probably just dreaming about my wife’s breasts.