I dreamed that we were living in a skinny house, with lots of windows overlooking the ocean. Everything looked antiqued through my dreaming eyes. There was a big piano my son was playing, and my daughter chased and giggled after him.
I dreamed that my belly was swollen with child, and I ran my fingers across my curves. Eight months pregnant. I felt the baby turn into position, a painful happy feeling. I had ordered a bracelet, it arrived and I felt it. It was inscribed with just the word “hope”.
I saw myself getting ready to give birth, getting ready to be in the zone. Someone asked if I needed pain medicine, and whoever my midwife was said “no, she has it under control”.
Then I was back in the house, talking about the baby coming, watching my son eat an actual piece of chicken with vegetables, and my daughter was staring out the window at the glorious views from the white house with a wraparound porch.
Hope. It’s never far.
(Though a little irrational as we’re completely done having children… just a disclaimer! 🙂 )