Premonitory dreams

I might be psychic, or maybe a prophet.  I have dreams that predict the future.
In college, I dreamed who the new director of the student run coffee shop would be before anyone told me.  I actually dreamed that Adam, one of the people who would chose the new director, told me who they had selected.
In 2006, I dreamed that Joe's wife was 7 weeks pregnant, and she really was.
In December, I dreamed that I had a c-section, and that they had to use general anethesia, and I slept for 3 days and never got to meet the baby.
I did get to meet my baby; in fact, I see her all the time.  But, as I have written about before, I did have a c-section, they almost had to give me general anesthesia, and I was in a fog for my whole stay in the hospital.  During the handful of moments I have had alone since T was born, my mind has consistently wandered back to her birth, and how difficult it was.  It didn't go as I imagined it would.  I thought I would deliver in a bed, sitting up, intensely but quietly pushing and breathing, an angelic glow on my cheeks, a crystal tear running down my temple, and she would be born and we would look each other in the eyes and instantly know that we were meant to be.  Then the violins would start up.  Then, the birth went the exact opposite way than I expected.  I had surgery, which was the very last thing I wanted to do, I didn't get to hold her for almost an hour, I was drugged up, sick, in pain, exhausted, I had trouble nursing, I cried for 3 days, and so on and so on.  I said I was prepared for it to go other than I imagined it, but based on my reactions after the fact, I clearly wasn't.  I didn't think I was the type to have rigid expectations for birth, but I was, and now I know that about myself.  I should pay more attention to my dreams.  Although, these days, my dreams are mostly about nursing.  No symbols, no metaphor, just reliving the events of the day.  They are the dreams of a dog.  Or a cow.