Or one nightmare in particular. As it took Grace seven months to start sleeping through the night, my body is still unaccustomed to sleeping, let alone dreaming. So now that Grace is sleeping more, that means I am sleeping more, right? Not exactly.
My reoccurring nightmare is as follows.
I wake up. IN A DEAD PANIC. (Panic seems to be a common emotion that I feel now that I am a mother that I could really do without. I think it's aging me.) For some reason, I am under the impression that Grace is sleeping in my bed but I can't find her. She hasn't made a noise in hours so I assume something must be wrong. Or more specifically, that I have smothered her in my sleep.
I start by giving the bed a pat down - trying to find a bump that resembles Grace's little body. When my search turns up nothing, I frantically start tearing all the covers and sheets off the bed. (Court worked nights most of this summer so he hasn't been here to calm me down. Luckily, he is so sleep deprived he usually forgets about these episodes by morning. ) Grace is no where to be found and I feel a wave of hysteria wash over me. Then, I remember that Grace was not sleeping in my bed; that she has never slept in my bed. She must be in her room so I go tearing in there and of course, there she is, sleeping peacefully...angelically...in her crib...in her room. Unfortunately, by this time, my heart is beating so rapidly that drifting back to sleep isn't an option.