Sweet Dreams Are Made of This
I woke up a little sad this morning.
I couldn't remember the dream, all I knew was that it was so sweet that I really hadn't wanted it to end.
I walked around the kitchen, numbly putting on the coffee, staring out the kitchen window.
Wondering…. "What sort of dream could possibly have left this hole in my heart? What was it that I had in my dream life that feels so absent in this one?"
I just could not shake this lingering feeling of loss, as though I had been ripped away from something so precious, something I couldn't even name, but knew I'd never have again.
And then my littlest man woke up. He curled up in my lap, warm with sleep and generous with kisses. He was still, for what I know will be short lived seconds. I am, everyday, so grateful for our quiet morning snuggles. I am aware too, each time, how his little body is growing bigger, that it takes up more of my lap.
And then I remembered.
I had dreamt that he was a baby again.
I had been holding him, curled into a little half moon, pressed up against me. He was laughing in my dream, that sweet baby laugh that shakes their whole little selves. It came flooding back, the soft little baby gown he wore, and how I had rubbed my cheek against his and whispered that I loved him.
For a moment, I had held my baby again. And then he was gone, in the blink of an eye.