A dream and fresh eggs

I rarely dream. But I dreamed last night and actually remembered it this morning.

I had a baby. There was no birth scene, otherwise it would have been a nightmare. I just all of a sudden had a baby girl in my arms (ok, so maybe it was a nightmare). She was wrapped in a pink blanket and had the most amazing smile. We were in my old house in Wisconsin and I'm not really sure why. But when I woke up I found myself trying to go back to sleep to see more. It didn't work.

I had such a happy, peaceful feeling in my dream, but I know in reality I can't do the baby thing. Given my high stress levels and mental fragility, I'd ruin any child in my presence long enough to be affected. They'd grow up angry and afraid of everything: afraid to take risks, afraid to look others in the eye, afraid to challenge themselves, afraid of disappointment. And I wouldn't be able to deal with my influence in that.

So I've thought a lot about donating my eggs. My birth control implant will run out when I'm 30 and you can donate between the age of 25-33. Neil is against the idea. Not because I'll be riddled with fertility drugs and off-limits for 6 weeks at a time, but because he's creeped out (for lack of a better term) with the idea of my genes existing in the world. I really don't feel that way at all. I guess the desire for me to help others is greater than the concern of them having a child with my genetic code.

I know how I'd feel if I really wanted a baby and was unable to. Most women desperately do anything to make it happen anyway. Some adopt. Others want more control. And who am I to judge someone wanting as much control of a situation as possible? I feel if I can't be a good mother myself, I can at least help someone else be a good mother or father. It's this deep-seeded need to be useful. Because I feel so utterly useless most of the time.