Timmy? Tommy? Whatever.
So for the first time in a looooong time, I had a dream last night that was devoid of violence, death, or unimaginable horrors. It was actually quite entertaining, so I shall share it with you here.
In this dream, Nate and I have a kid.* And just as would probably happen in real life, the kid is second in importance after Jazzy. Like, the kid will be sitting on the floor next to Jazzy’s food bowl and I’d pick up the bowl to refill it for Jazzy before picking up the kid. And we just kind of…leave him places around the house, like on a bookshelf or behind the TV or under the bed. He’s just there.
(Parents of the Year!)
Anyway, at one point in the dream I realize that CPS is going to take our kid away if we don’t start paying more attention to him. So I tell Nate that I’m going to get a special clock made. This clock will have the name of our kid written in place of the “12” and the “1” to remind us to spend time with the kid during those hours.
The clock arrives and the name that replaces the “12” and the “1” is “Timmy.” Now in the dream I’m super confused at this point, because I’m pretty sure we named our kid Tommy. I spend a good amount of time trying to get Nate to say the kid’s name to confirm what it actually is, but he never says it. So I eventually just have to show him the clock and ask, “what did we actually name our kid? Is it Timmy or is it Tommy?”
Nate’s pretty sure it’s Tommy too, so my next question is who the hell is Timmy? And rather than take responsibility for the fact that we’re screw-ups who can’t remember what we named our kid and thus bought a clock with the wrong name on it, Nate and I quickly make up a guy named “Timmy” – we say he’s Nate’s cousin – and that’s why we made the mistake on the clock.
Then we’re all like, “aw, man, nobody likes Timmy!” “Screw Timmy!” “Everything about Timmy is a mistake!” and we renounce the hell out of him to try to justify why we can’t keep the clock anymore. We don’t want some loser’s name on it, after all.
So after the clock is disposed of, I tell Nate that we can’t call Tommy anything other than Tommy because we need to make sure we remember his name and the only way to do so is to just repeat it constantly.
Then I immediately go up to the kid and start cooing at him like “ooooh, who’s my special Happy Giggle Toes Diaper Boy? My Fancy Rude Dude Red Pants???” and I can feel Nate glaring at me because I’m calling him everything but Tommy.
Then I woke up.
Anyway. Weird dream. And it further supports our decision to NEVER HAVE KIDS EVER.
*Okay, so this technically falls under the “unimaginable horrors” category because of that, but I’ll let it slide since the dream was overall quite hilarious and not of the “oh god oh god I have a kid I’ve ruined my life” style.