I had a dream the other night that I was ricocheting through Paris in a cab with a soon-to-no-longer-be pregnant woman. She gave birth on the backseat with the cabby leaning over leering the entire time.
Then it got weird...
The cabby and I got into a heated discussion on the proper method of cutting the umbilical cord. I was in favor of squeezing anything in the cord back towards the mother, out of fear of "flooding" the infant. I had images of a bursting sausage.
The cabby held that the child needed all the nutrients that it could get and that I should sluice the juice babywards.
Please keep in mind that the cabby was speaking mostly French, which I apparently understand much better when asleep, and I was babbling in English, all the while juggling the wailing child.
The mother didn't have much input on the conversation, which kept referencing the proper way of cleaning chitterlings as best guide to post-natal separation.
or post-navel, I suppose...
About this time the cabby starting waving his pocket knife around, demanding that I get on with it so that he could release the tie that binds.
Someone PLEASE analyze this one for me.
By the way, that's the Eiffel Tower in that curbside puddle.