Aden called to me from her bed the other night. Bad dream.
We taught her a couple of years ago about lucid dreaming, and how she
could control the contents of her dreams a bit if she needed to, but
lately it’s been getting away from her. She told me several weeks ago
over breakfast that she’d had a bad dream “Not like a nightmare, nothing
bad was happening in it,” but it was uncomfortable. She didn’t like
the color of the clothes the people were wearing, or the length of their
sleeves, and she wasn’t able to change it, and that bothered her. I
told her if nothing scary was happening it would probably be more fun to
just let it go and be surprised by whatever the dream wanted to be.
She thought about that for a moment and agreed to try to be surprised.
But her dream the other night was just downright scary.
She said there was a doctor trying to hold a frantic little creature
and it kept eating straight through his hand. I agreed that sounded
gross and freaky and told her I’d lie with her in her bed for a little
while. She loves that. She smiled and made as much room as she could
for me and I put my arms around her and she was content.
Someone told me years ago, before I had kids, that when a child wakes
up from a nightmare you never ask them to tell you about it, because
then they relive it and it becomes harder to shake. On one level that
sounds reasonable to me, but on another it doesn’t. I’m actually less
likely to talk about a good dream, because all dreams seem somewhat
ridiculous when described out loud and I’d like to hang on to some of
the nice ones. Even my worst nightmares were drained of at least some
of their power once I told them to anyone. I’ve had some pretty
frightening dreams that have stayed with me a long time, but all of them
have to be acknowledged as fiction once they’re out of my head.
With my kids’ dreams, there is the added factor that I’m just
curious. And if they’re dreaming about things that stem from fears in
real life I want to know. But as with everything to do with parenting,
it depends on the child. Aden almost always tells me her dreams and
nightmares if I ask, and Mona refuses. The last time Mona had a bad
dream after seeing a cartoon that scared her a few months ago, she could
barely stand to admit she needed comforting. I was supposed to sit on
the bed and look the other way while she huffed and said she was fine
until she fell back asleep. If Quinn wants me in the night he comes and
finds me himself. He has no fear of the dark. All of my kids as
babies looked as if they were dreaming about eating during most of their
sleeping hours.
Lying with any of my kids in his or her bed at night is amusing to
me. All three of my kids currently share one room, and I’m always
unprepared for how noisy it is. I had a room to myself growing up.
There were times I thought it was lonely, but overall I liked having my
own room and it took time to adjust to roommates in college. My kids
are so used to all being together that they’ve gotten good at blocking
out sounds of restless shifting in other beds or the soft snores and
breathing of their siblings. Mona occasionally yells at her sister in
her sleep, and Aden never stirs. Quinn sleeps through an amazing amount
of loud squeaky girl games in the mornings.
I stayed with Aden until she seemed relaxed, gave her a kiss, and
told her I had to go back to my own bed if I were going to get any sleep
myself. She understood and went back to sleep. I think she mostly
just needed to know I was only one small cry of, “Mama!” away. She
keeps asking if we can invest in walkie talkies so she can call to me at
night, and I keep reminding her that I hear the slightest peep from my
room next door without any electronic gadgets at all. The bad dreams my
kids have are few and far between, and I’m relieved that a brief
snuggle has been enough to fix them.
Personally, I used to have a lot of tooth nightmares. I’d have a
dream about once a week about my teeth falling out. The last really
vivid one I remember involved me holding in one of my canines while
being driven in a cab to a dentist at night, and by the time we arrived I
discovered that while I was holding in the one tooth, all the others
had fallen out without my noticing. There is no way to receive adequate
pity for such a dream because it’s too stupid. I remember the feeling
of horror that accompanied it while I had it, but even I know it sounds
laughable when I describe it. Every once in awhile I’ll come across
another piece about dream analysis that will include something about
what tooth nightmares are supposed to represent, but they are all over
the map and none of them sounds reasonable. I sincerely think I’m
probably nervous about losing my teeth and in this case the tooth shaped
cigar is just a cigar. The tooth nightmares, along with my daily bout
of hiccups, both mostly disappeared once I got pregnant the first time.
I don’t have a clue what that’s about.
In any case, I haven’t noticed any increase in nightmares in the kids
since their dad left, and I’m glad. It is among the greatest gifts I
can offer my children that they feel safe in their beds at night. Ian’s
deployment may have complicated their daylight hours, but at night
there appears to be no change. Most of their dreams remain sweet.
I hope it’s a long time before they realize that true nightmares happen when you’re awake.
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