The past few nights have been rough. My old nemesis Insomnia has found me again, and seems to be sticking around. Ironically the shift in weather has made sleeping conditions ideal: windows open, breeze blowing in, covers tucked under my chin. And yet sleep eludes me.
Each night I wake up at least once for an hour-long stretch. I try not to toss and turn, as my husband is not the greatest sleeper and I'd hate to wake him up, too. It starts out usually at 2am or 4am with an innocent waddle to, uh, powder my nose. I get back into bed and wait for Petit Trois to kick or roll or wiggle or poke a little bit. Until he does my anxiety slowly creeps until it's at a fever pitch. And luckily, he's obliged every night. But then some song gets played over and over in my head, or I start thinking about the upcoming day's agenda, or I start to worry or I remember my baby died . . . and I can't turn off my brain.
And suddenly it's 6 am, or, in the case of the past few days, between 4:30 and 5:30 am and E is waking up. Fortunately for me, C gets E up in the morning and hangs with him until about 7, when it's my turn to get up and take over. But in the wee hours of the morning I start to stress about how quickly 7am is approaching.
The past few nights I've actually had dreams about this new little guy. In the first one I had just delivered him, and no one would tell me if he was alive; they handed him to me and I vividly remember nursing him. I assumed he was alive; I picked him up to look at him and he was pointy and tiny. He didn't look anything like E or anyone else in our family. And suddenly he had black eyebrows and blond hair, a mouth full of teeth and was talking to me. While it freaked me out, I remember thinking, "well, he's alive."
Last night's was more gentle. It was a quick glimpse, but I got to see Petit Trois. I was still pregnant, and I had to hold my laptop and click on the Safari icon to see his face reflected in the monitor. He was smiling, and had blonde hair, and was real. I looked at him several times before I woke up.
I don't remember having baby dreams about E or Calla. I do however, remember a dream shortly after Calla died. I dreamt I was still pregnant, but knew the baby was dead. I dreamt of that heavy, silent, still feeling I had in my belly the day we went to the hospital. It was a pretty terrible dream.
Here's hoping I can somehow achieve a full night's sleep sometime again in my life. Half-decaf coffee works for now to help fill in the gaps.