The time I married a 13 year old Korean
The last time I can remember dreaming I was maybe 7 months pregnant. I had been following my sleep progress with this awesome iPhone app called Sleep Cycle. Totally worth the 99 cents it cost at the time to download. It tracks your sleep, deep sleep and wakeful times. It’s scary accurate. It’ll tell you the quality of sleep you had and when your best/worst nights were.
I had never had a better than 75% quality for sleeping.
And no dreams.
The past two nights, however, I’ve been dreaming. And remembering what I’ve been dreaming about.
Last night, I married a 13 year old Korean in a ruse to secretly marry one of my high school boyfriends, and no, not the one I was with for forever and a day. Which is random. But anyhow. Back to my 13 year old.
Not really sure where he fit into the whole thing, but I remember running to my friend Kevin’s house, who was my neighbor growing up, and asking him to drive me in his white van to the church. The veil I was supposed to wear was a hockey mask decorated with awful fake silk flowers. I was supposed to wear my glasses, but in the end, I got my hair done nice and wore Matt’s contacts. (Yes, he was there.)
I ended up running down South Street in my wedding gown screaming “I’m not racist! I just don’t want to marry a 13 year old!” and ended up marrying my high school boyfriend.
I won’t lie, he looked hot in his suit.
Also, the Pittsburgh Mayor was there and was called a liar by the pastor.
Analyze that, man.
Two nights in a row of decent newborn sleep really pays off, because today I’m feeling normal and like how a mother with a newborn should feel. Not overly tired, but not 100%. I’m cool with that, because right now, my only job is to hold Miss Audrey while the kids fish out of a pot behind me and Matt attempts to get some work done. I can handle that.