In My Dream

dreams and wishes. 62/365

In my dream, I’m sitting outside, rays of sunlight warming my skin.

In my dream, I can barely hear the screaming. It’s distant, and trails off with the breeze.

In my dream, Harry Connick, Jr. serenades me through my earbuds as I carefully repot flowering plants, and I breathe fresh air, much different from the filtered air in my climate-controlled prison. The ground is cool and fresh under my bare feet. There’s no rug under me, no rug matted with cat hair spitup chocolate candy crumbs juice shredded newsprint gnawed-on blocks. I can breathe.

In my dream, there are no doors slamming, there’s no toddler napping under the bottom shelf of the linen closet, no baby crawling races around the living room, no arguments about who’s washing the next round of bottles, no clean laundry being strewn all over the house.

In my dream, I rediscover my passions.

In my dream, I’m not negotiating or pleading with a potential babysitter for two hours of sanity.

In my dream, I sleep. Restfully. I don’t see 3 am. I don’t see 4 am. I awaken, fresh, in the morning, and enjoy breakfast with my husband.

In my dream, I’m not buying four cans of formula and two hundred diapers a week.

In my dream, I have no knee pain. I’m not taking ibuprofen twice a day for an overuse injury that’s only worsened from ascending and descending the stairs innumerable times to relocate my children.

In my dream, I’m in a bar. A bar with dim lights and a live band. I feel the cool condensation of a Cape Codder in my hand, music pulsing through my body. I’m leaning in and chatting loudly with my friends, strangers. I’m not worrying about the time or when the next twin will wake up for his bottle.

In my dream, I’m watching a movie. A whole movie. Uninterrupted.

In my dream, I’m sane. My memory is intact, my house clean, my clothes ironed. I buy fresh-cut flowers for my dining room table. I experiment with recipes and have dinner parties. My house smells like cinnamon and cloves.

I’m in control.

In my dream, I’m not cycling through grown-out-of-clothes, crib heights, diaper sizes, erupting teeth, developmental milestones, pediatrician appointments, toys.

In my dream, I’m rolling smooth, cool cookie dough with floured hands, carefully shaping it into holiday cookies, while music plays softly in the background.

In my dream, I’m not struggling to reclaim the person I once was, to define the person I am now, or trying to find a way to merge the two.

In my dream, my husband and I cuddle on the couch, sharing a blanket, lazily chatting about our respective days as we half-heartedly search for something to watch.

And, in my dream, we’re fondly and animatedly discussing completing our family with the children we’ve always wanted.

Comments

  1. Once upon a time….. This is how we earn retirement, right? By wading through a couple of decades of messy chaos so that we can surround ourselves in peaceful beauty while having the age and wisdom to truly enjoy it. Right? Please tell me it’s true!

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  2. Oh, I hear ya sister. I also have that dream.

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  3. I’d say that within 18 months you can realize 50% of your dreams. Don’t quote me on which 50%. . . .

    Until then sweet dreams. I feel for you.

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  4. I think you’ve stolen my dreams! I too am outnumbered by little people intent on trying to keep me thin by steps. PS it’s not working i’m still a heifer! We’ll get there, there is light at the end of the tunnel… and it’s not a train… or a child with a torch!

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  5. Well put, well written!

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  6. Such a beautiful dream i’d take the just not having to take ibuprofen to keep up with the kids.

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  7. Awesome, I think I also had that dream,my twins are almost 11 years old, there is hope and peace, at least before they become tweens!

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Trackbacks

  1. […] Stephanie of Momma Be Thy Name has written a beautiful post titled In My Dream. If you’re a Stay-At-Home-Parent (or even a working parent) and can’t relate to this on […]

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