Last night after an extended nightmare I won’t describe I dreamt about Lucy. She was almost a toddler in my dream. She had light, slightly curly hair. She was longer, her baby fat stretched out a bit more along almost gangly limbs. She had light, bright eyes. But she did have Margot’s smile.
In my dream Lucy was noticeably tough and opinionated, even at that age. Even pre-language. She was concerned with the insulation of our family and with protecting that. She was sensitive but not in weak way, rather in an assertive way.
I’ve been having a hard time this week with my thoughts. I realized not long ago that these thoughts and feelings weren’t going to go away, I was just going to learn how to live with them better. Like a permanent injury, I journey now with a limp. Some days it’s easier to walk on than others, some days I hide the defect in my stride better than others.
Lucy’s more imminent arrival is causing no small amount of anxiety and remembering. I’m ready for her to be here. To be completely real to me. Carissa carries her around and gets to feel her move all day long. To me–until that dream–she was more abstract and therefore more evocative of the past. Margot was everything to me. It’s hard to go through the activities of preparing for Lucy’s birth when all those things were for Margot. Her room. Her house. Everything.
I’m grateful for the dream…it’s something to hold in my mind as I continue putting one foot in front of the other.