BABIES AND ALLIGATORS... NOT BABY ALLIGATORS.

Last night I had a really weird dream. I know, I know, you don't care. But I learned something about myself. So, there's a moral to this dream. Hang in there with me, 'mmmmkay?

The gist is this: my sister and I had a baby. I don't know how exactly-it was just that we were locked out of our apartment and we needed a key so the landlord was like, "Here, let me make you a new copy" and then he went into the back room and came out with a baby. And that was our key. Which, because it was a dream, we were totally ok with. We were all like, "Thanks- this helps us out a lot!" and then my sister said, "I named him Jonathan Sector [imput last name here]" and that's when everything went to hell in a handbasket.

 I started yelling at her telling her that this is why I wanted to be at the hospital because why does she get to be the one who names the baby? and it's not fair that I had no say in it because this baby was mine too dammit -it's not right that she just chose a name without consulting me. And then an alligator walked by and bit off my leg. And I woke up kicking at the covers (presumably to shake off the gator).

The lesson here: I am way to immature to have a kid. Given the complete tantrum I threw over a name (which, let's be honest y'all, sounds totally sorta like me) it's a wonder my daughter hasn't turned out thoroughly maladjusted (thank you Lord for my husband!). I stayed awake the rest of the night contemplating how in the hell I'm gonna raise a tweenie when I act like one myself.

Confucius says: babies and alligators aside, an adult you do not make.
(or maybe that was Yoda, I'm not really sure).