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These dreams … (and dreams we have for others)


Last night I dreamed my mother was pregnant.  The shock that she was carrying a child at her age gave way to wonder.  I felt a sense of peace and safety and excitement.

I was in the hospital with her, for a check up or perhaps because the time was close to meet the little one?

I looked at her swollen belly and then into her eyes.  She was smiling in a tired yet calm way, and had some bad news.

The baby wasn’t going to make it.

It wasn’t long after that ‘scene’ when we were in a gymnasium, and she was finalizing plans with a score keeper to try again.  I didn’t even question why he would be the father.  It just seemed like a business transaction.

I noticed my mom online this morning and told her: “I dreamed you were pregnant.” She responded “We weren’t going to tell anyone just yet.”

That made me smile.

I am fortunate to have a mother with a sense of humor.

I researched the symbology of seeing someone pregnant.  It said: “To dream someone else is pregnant indicates that you are experiencing a closer connection to this person.”


So what did they say it meant to lose the baby?

“Suggests that some idea or plan did not go as expected.  The dream may also serve as a warning against your continued course of action.  You need to alter your path or risk losing something of significance and value to you.”

Hmmmm ….

I have my own theory.

I’m ashamed to admit, I’ve had some resentment lately.

Nicholas returned from England and the next step was to enroll in college and look for his first job.

I stand by my theory that no one can want anything FOR you.  While you can suggest, encourage and support, you can’t want someone into doing something.

Of course I’ve discussed school with Nic.  But in my opinion, unless it’s something he wants for himself, he won’t put in the work.

I planted seeds and offered ideas and hoped to see him decide to take that path on his own.  For him to make the effort to look into how to make it happen.

And he has.

Yesterday he went to the college and in the evening, we pushed “Submit” on his student aid application.

My resentment comes from the fact that every conversation I’ve had with my mother lately includes her telling me what Nic has to do.

As if I’ve been dropping the ball on the whole ‘raising your child’ thing.

“He needs to go speak to a counselor at the college.” “He needs to apply for jobs.”

I think a part of me feels like she doesn’t trust my mothering.

I felt talked down to,  like a little girl being given directions because she couldn’t figure it out on her own.

And the feeling returned that Nicholas is not mine, but hers.

I sat in that feeling and it wasn’t comfortable.

So I shifted my thoughts and my position.

Nicholas isn’t mine.  He does not belong to anyone. “God doesn’t have grandchildren” came to mind.

I considered that I’m fortunate to have others love and care about my son.  The directions come from a well intended place.


I have to take myself and my pride out of the equation – because it’s not about me.

I don’t know what it’s like to be a grandmother.  I can only imagine.  I imagine it’s indescribably amazing.

The love I have for my son is the most honest and pure and complete love I’ve known.  So to one day, perhaps, hold his child?  My eyes are watering just imagining it.


And I’ll want the best for his son or daughter.  And if I’m fortunate enough to be there and to know my grandchild – I’m sure I’ll offer Nic advice.

But I trust the person that he is – even now.  I know his values and his heart.  I know that he will be an incredible father one day.

Turrets and teeth


I did something today I haven’t done in the two years I’ve been at my current job.  I called in sick.  Well, I emailed in sick to be accurate.

While the frequency of my mouth pain has substantially subsided, it still comes out of nowhere and WHAM!  Instant debilitation.

I did not want to stray far from my heating pad and, until the antibiotics kick in, am only finding relief ultimately from pain pills that I should not be taking and driving.

Nor should I be making calculated decisions, sitting upright or operating heavy machinery (like a work computer – my home one doesn’t count, if I type something wrong here, it’s not going to affect the outcome of a home purchase.)

I’m also in a bit of a dark place. 

I think when we’re not feeling well, we’re more susceptible to letting our demons in.  I’ve been cranky and sad, bitter and broody.  I counter every thought in my head with a chastising and put myself in a time-out.  I’m aware of the bullshit that is going through my head and I know that it stems from not feeling well.

It’s still scary though.

I do not like not feeling like ‘myself’.  Funny, considering this is the same body that craved that exact result for so many years. 

I’ve also come to the conclusion that funny and happy are much more appealing topics than serious or sad ones. 

To healthy people anyway.

So instead of feeling slighted that when I got few responses to the posts that only consisted of updates about how miserable I was feeling – I should be ecstatic that I have healthy people in my life. 

Turn it around.

That’s what I’ve been doing during some darker moments.

I felt like a monster yesterday and this morning when I could imagine putting a bullet through my dog’s head as she barked non-stop out of the window. 

I had to pick through that.  I know I could never – would never do such a thing.  I walk around bugs on the ground for crying out loud!

But as I lay on the couch, trying to rest – trying to gain some ground on my return to ‘me’, I didn’t want to hear one more yap.

Turn it around.

She’s guarding her family.  Albeit, from an innocuous car driving by the house or perhaps a feral rabbit hopping by the fence, but for all intents and purposes, she is barking for good.

So I gave her a squeaky toy and a chewy treat, not a bullet. 

I’ve also been scared. 

That first night – the worst night – I knew there was no one to turn to.  No one to step up and take the lead.  No one to take care of me.

This is by my own choosing, I know this.  But the older I get, the harder it is ‘going it alone’. 

It’s not fair that my son had to play that role. 

He put his arms around me on the couch as I sobbed out in pain and rocked me back and forth. 

It reminded me of the book ‘Love you Forever’.  When the grown man comes to his ailing, old mother and sings her the song she sang to him so many times.


He is not a grown man.

But he intuitively knew what was happening was no joke – and I needed comfort.

This past weekend he went to the grocery store for me, he brought me soft food and he was kind and sweet and loving.

A friend stopped by, not even knowing exactly where I lived – but she found my car after driving around.

So, I know there are people I can reach out to – but it’s very, very hard for me to do. 

I can’t look someone in the eye and say “I need help”.

I use my words.  My written words – to express how I’m feeling.

It’s cathartic and feels safe.  I don’t have to watch body language or facial expressions and have my warped sense of pride spit out an inaccurate reading.

My written words I trust.  I’ve always been able to say what I want to say on paper – or now, a screen.

What I want to say is, I need people.  I am scared of doing everything alone and I can’t do it all.  I don’t want to.

My pride has got in the way for years. 

I know this.  But I don’t know what to do about it. 

I had multiple people offer to loan me the money for the dental procedure – but I turned them all down.  I didn’t want to owe my friends money.  And when something isn’t hurting, it’s very easy to prioritize something else.

I’ve come a long way.  But there’s a hard-wired need to take care of things by myself.  Not depend on anyone.  Who knows why.  That’s a whole couch session.  Let down in the past, abandonment, or – letting someone help me and having it lorded over me.  A number of reasons.

But, I have proven I’m self-sufficient to a point of selfishness. 

Something to think about.

I need to decide to let people in.  There are so many amazing souls in my life that I keep back behind a line I have drawn in my sand.

I didn’t just build a wall, I built a tower.  I locked myself inside of it and only rapelled down to go to work or fetch supplies.

I kept my son in there too – sheltered and watching me guard my self-imposed prison – Queen of my castle. 

Absolutely ridiculous.

You know, in dreams, teeth represent anxieties and problems. Perhaps in ignoring my anxieties until they hurt so much and knocked me on my arse, I’ve finally got the chance to fix them.

Once I have this problem pulled, I’ll work on getting the rest of me healthy.