One thing I haven’t really talked about during this pregnancy is my fears. I have them. A lot of them. As cool as it is to feel baby kicks and marvel over itty bitty onesies, the fact is in 17 weeks or so, there’s going to be a real life infant here who will rely on us for survival.

I’m not afraid of keeping him alive, but I’m afraid I’m going to do it wrong. I watch my friends who are mothers and think, “How does she know to do that? How does she know that’s what he needs?”

I’m good with kids, love them, actually. But will I be able to tell the difference between a cry for food, a cry because he’s tired or a cry just because he wants to be held? What do I do when he gets a fever, won’t eat or doesn’t poop for days?

I know every new mother goes through this, but as the weeks tick on, I start to worry about this stuff more and more. Last night I had a dream that the first time I decided to try and breastfeed was weeks (!!!) into his life. He was huge and I just couldn’t get it to work. I kept jabbing him in the eye with my nipple and one point, his face puffed out like a marshmallow and milk started dribbling out the sides of his mouth and it was only when he spit up in my face that I realized I had essentially squeezed a water balloon worth of breast milk into his mouth all at once and he was choking on it.

I was so upset in the dream that I didn’t even think that I should stop and notice that hey, you’re looking at your baby. All I could see was this little face that I was drowning IN MY BREAST MILK and I felt horrible.

I’m hoping that some natural instincts will kick in and I’ll surprise myself and in the meantime, I’m hoping these dreams don’t get more persistent.

And I really hope I don’t drown my baby in my breast milk.