By Heather O.
I’m a dreamer. Not in the Ryan Shupe “Dream Big” kinda way, but in the I regularly wake up screaming from nightmares kinda way. (Yeah, I did that to DH about 5 days after we were married. Only then did he have an inkling he might be married to a crazy woman.)
Every time something big happens to me, I have nightmares about it. When I got my driver’s license, I dreamed I was in a car with no brakes, and would wake up with my foot pounding the bed as I frantically tried to stop the car. After I got married, I would dream that I was forced to marry somebody else, or a faceless person who was not DH, or, sadly, the man I was previously engaged to (which I will not go into here, because heavens, I’d need a whole other blog to explain THAT one).
And so another big event has happened. And the nightmares have started, people.
I dreamed that I was in a car accident in a convertible, and my entire family was thrown from the car. I dreamed that somebody showed up with adoption papers I didn’t know I’d signed, and they had come to get the baby that wasn’t really mine. And the kicker–last night, I dreamed I was running through the halls of a building, chasing the sound of my baby’s cries, chasing the somebody who had stolen her.
This is one reason I keep my child in the room with me. We don’t co-sleep, because my husband showed a propensity to roll over newborns the first night J slept with us. But I need to be able to wake up from these dreams, peek my head over my bed, touch my newborn, and feel the reassuring heat of her body and whisper of her breath and know that despite the monsters in my head, she’s still mine. And still there. And still breathing.
Anybody else as crazy as I am?
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