Dreaming

A young woman is lying on the carpet on a landing in labour. There are two or three midwives with her. One of the midwives asks me to help out. She asks me to hold the baby while she delivers the baby. (The two acts are going on at the same time, involving the same baby.) She wants me to either hold the baby in my arms or lay it on a white sheet on top of a narrow strip of something. I think this will hurt the baby, so I choose to hold it instead. As I take the baby, it poos, lots, narrowly avoiding my clothes. I am given something to put around it, and it poos again. A midwife says that it did it to her too. I tell her that I gave birth over there and point to the spot on Tom’s carpet.

I am with the baby in a room with other people. The baby has been put down, and I walk away to talk to someone. I realise my mistake and go back and pick the baby up. She is wrapped up and cosy; I cuddle her in close.

I am at Harrods with someone, standing at the bottom of the stairs. A female assistant is handing out leaflets. I look at it but don’t understand it. I ask her something, then tell her that it’s my first time at Harrods, which seems unbelievable. We laugh, but it is my first time, so she explains what to do and what Harrods can offer me. Something is said about knowing how much Harrods is worth, how important and valuable it is, and whether I am good enough, but not in terms of money. I say, “Does Harrods know how valuable I am, that I am worth a lot? Is Harrods good enough for me?”