God spoke to me

He does from time to time, you know; only this time, it was in the form of a dream. I woke up a couple hours ago with the distinct impression that God was not too pleased with my earlier post concerning my favor of dogs over babies and small children. I dreamt that I had my own tiny baby. She was so beautiful and small. I knew the baby was my own and not someone else's because I had an overwhelming feeling of protectiveness over her that I can only assume comes with being a mother. I have no idea who the father was (eek!), but it somehow didn't matter to me. I distinctly recall the baby being blue-eyed with faint wisps of blonde hair (hmm...is this a premonition for the future?). I wish I could remember her name, but alas, that was the one thing that slipped from memory the moment I awoke. She had to be only a couple months old, but for some reason she was able to sit up on her own. She had no teeth yet, but loved gumming a small, light-blue and gray teething ring. I remember taking her everywhere with me -- to school to teach, around the house, running errands -- in my arms in front of me (even in one of those baby carriers where she just hangs in front of me in a sling). Her soft head had the succulent baby smell, and I breathed in greedily, knowing it would not last forever.
The only odd thing was that the child never once cried. She was the ideal child, not a realistic one. She smiled and laughed and looked at me in adoration. I want this child.

I need this child. She is mine; I know that. I just can't wait to meet her now.