catholic guilt?

despite being a woman of loose morals and questionable reputation, i actually went to catholic school from first through eighth grade. for years, my mother's hard-earned money went towards granting her daughters a prestigious education at one of miami's finest schools, in the hopes that we would one day turn out to be fine young catholic women. and i was into it. i sang my little heart out in the choir every week, have 5 of the 7 sacraments under my belt (holy orders and last rites don't apply just yet), and even remember some psalms and gospels according to matthew, mark, luke, and john. but then i went to public school, met some pot-smoking hippies, and discovered the pleasures of the flesh. and i can't really say i've ever turned back.

however, lately i've been feeling a certain spiritual pull in the back of my neck. not that i would ever go back to the oppressive and classist world of the catholic church, or really any church, but doing pre-natal yoga re-opened a pocket of mysticism that i thought i had left behind many years ago. suddenly, i'm really into the whole idea of meditating (versus the term "praying") and imagining the different colors of energy that surround us. whatever, i'm half-joking, i guess. but my point is that i think being pregnant and feeling the babies move inside my belly has turned into something of a spiritual experience. and opening that door has left me wanting more.

which leads me to a very bizarre dream that i had the other night. i've been dreaming about the babies, in one way or another, for several weeks now. i dreamt that i had one baby and that the other was on its way, like a fedex package. i dreamt that i had to push and push and push to get the baby out and it was born healthy but it was a toaster and jeremy didn't want to cut the cord because then how would it work? i even dreamt that i was lovingly gazing into my baby's face, marveling at his beauty, lying in a bed full of poo because i was too tired to clean it up and we'd run out of baby wipes. some weird shit.

but the other night takes the cake. i dreamt that my midwife was the principal of my catholic school, sr. kathleen, a woman i have not seen or even thought about in over 10 years. if she's even alive still, she's definitely pushing 90 and my memories of her are not warm and fuzzy. she's prim, proper, and mean looking. and definitely not the kind of woman i want anywhere near my vagina. but in my dream, she had just delivered isabel, and she wouldn't let me hold the baby until i stood in front of the entire congregation (which had somehow managed to squeeze into the delivery room) and sang the ave maria. i kept telling her that i didn't know the words, as i struggled to cover my naked breasts, and sit up straight in my delivery bed. i could see isabel looking at me from sr. kathleen's arms, but i was too scared to wrestle her away from the grim-faced nun. finally, desperate to take my kid away from her, i told her that if she could find my laptop, i would google the "lyrics" and sing my little heart out, just like back in the old days. suddenly, the congregation burst into laughter and someone passed me a missalette (sp?) which has all of the appropriate readings and hymns for the corresponding season. with a mixture of terror and practiced poise, i opened it to the ave maria and sang it with all my heart, with one hand covering my breasts and the other reaching for my daughter. you tell me what the hell that means.
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