Yesterday, I dreamt that my son was a baby again. He was wearing tiny little sweat pants and a tiny little matching sweat shirt. The hood covered his bald little head. I picked him up and held him on my hip and I could feel how heavy he was and I could actually smell him. He smelled of a fresh bath...baby lotion and the artificial scent of baby powder from the fresh diaper he had on. In the dream I took it completely for granted that I was holding him that way again.
The door bell rang and I put him down as I went to see who was at the door....then...I woke up.
I can't tell you how sad I was to wake up to find that I wasn't holding my baby anymore.
Lord knows that the dream was definitely symbolic for me...Lately I have been fretting about my daughter going to college and my son's grades in school.
Subconsciously I was going back to a time where I kept my eye on him 24/7. I controlled whatever happened around him... what he wore and even how sweet he smelled.
I can't begin to tell you how I long for time to turn back, to take me back to where my mistakes as a mom were few and It seemed I had the energy of a superhero.
I want to go back to before the reality that they would grow up and leave to start their own lives would loom so closely. I want to go back to Sesame street, Dora the Explorer and Caillou.
I want to go back to sweet infectious giggles and holding them until they fell asleep.
If only I could... for just a little while.