pregnancy is weird

August 4, 2014

The last three mornings, I struggle to the surface; my eyes open, and tears start streaming out of them. Literally. These dreams make me feel like I’m losing my mind. The ones I awaken from are the least bizarre of the whole-night-long cranial gymnastics routine, but they are the most troubling. The first morning, I find Everett lying on the floor at school, claiming someone peed in his face and that everyone refuses to talk to him. The second morning, I pick Ian up from preschool, where he has been waiting for me for hours in the lunch room since he received no direction on what to do next; he clings to my neck like a baby animal. The third morning, Marshall confesses he has cheated on me; I wake up and stare at him, and instead of feeling anger, sadness floods over me. Cue the waterworks.

I know, instantly, that they are dreams, but I feel so betrayed, and the betrayal is so real there is no way to let it dissolve except to let the five minutes go by, tick tick tick. And then I am better, but those feelings follow me like ghosts throughout the day. I know that these dreams, in particular, are reflective of real-life anxiety I have about my babies going to school for the first time and, perhaps, occasional normal anxiety about how connected I really am to my husband. In the daylight, when the shades are up and my bed is made and my family is bouncing around me, I tsk at my hormones like they are another naughty child, then embrace them and put them to bed. They never stay there for very long.   

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