Jen and I are out getting some groceries in this small village store in the country, about 30 minutes from our apartment. Jen sees this guy at the deli counter who looks vaguely familiar to me and goes over and gives him a big hug. It’s obviously someone she works with, but I can’t quite place him. They start chatting it up, he asks how things are going. I’m grabbing a gallon of milk and some bread. He asks about the baby and a wave of fear instantly washes over me.

Holy shit! We forgot the boy! Holy shit, this is awful! I can’t f’n believe we’re such bad parents. Do I have to write this in my blog? It’s not that bad, right?

For some reason we go and pay for the stuff, but I feel more like dropping it and sprinting out to the car to speed home. Maybe we can call the neighbors and explain what happened. I mean they’ll understand. Besides new parents must do this type of thing all the time since we’re suffering from lack of sleep…

Flashback to reality in one of those Saved By the Bell style dream clouds, ‘cause that’s about when I realized I was dreaming. Or, more precisely, having a nightmare. It all seemed so vivid… seemed so real. And in my nightmare I actually thought about — I actually contemplated — whether I would have to chronicle this on my blog! So for all you out there who wonder (like I do) about my dedication to my blog or what will and won’t make these… er… pages… no…. this html, know this: I was going to write about how I left the HBomb at home to do some shopping. Fortunately, bad parenting in dreams doesn’t count.