Sometimes a dream is just a dream

The death of my father spurned a string of dreams/appearances from my dad for my entire immediate family. Most of us have had them--short little snippets of him that have been so unique that we are certain they were visits. And this sounds just like something my dad would do in the afterlife.

I've had two. The first one happened while I was still in St. Louis and it was really simple: Dad was there and he hugged me. That was it. My second was a little bit longer. He was there again, smiling. I realized immediately that it was my chance to talk to him and said, "Dad, wait, I've got to know, are you happy?" I was trying to get out the words so hard that I was mumbling in my sleep, so Eric woke me up (so used to rescuing me from nightmares by waking me). I didn't get to hear his reply. Both of them happened right around 5:30 a.m.

This morning, inbetween the wakefulness of early-morning baby feedings and getting Bianca ready for school, I had another dream with dad in it. A tree in our yard fell down and for some reason, we lugged it into the house and put a sheet over it. I noticed the sheet was moving. Two woodchucks came hurtling out, along with some squirrels. Dad and I were chasing them around the house, catching them, and putting them outside. After clearing the house of woodland creatures, I realized I had dad right there again and tried to ask again. My mom appeared out of nowhere and so did someone else, but I can't remember who it was. "Dad, is there an afterlife?"

He shook his head and said, "I don't know."

To which I replied, "But you died. You must know. Is there an afterlife?" I saw a tear in his eye and he looked uncertain and shook his head, I guess so.

I told Eric about my strange dream when I awoke this morning. He then looked very grave and said, "This poses a very interesting question." I was waiting to hear what he'd say about it. Surely something philosophical. Maybe that there wasn't an afterlife or that you don't even realize you're in it. But then he said, "How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?"

Yeah, so maybe I've been trying to find meaning or answers when there are none. Maybe sometimes a dream is just a crazy, wild squirrel-chasing dream.

A gift

When I first found out I was pregnant with Portia, the timing was just so (her due date was on Miranda's birthday) that one of my friends, Christie, said that she was a gift from Miranda. I didn't buy it at the time because I'm skeptical. It's just biology, of course. Lately though, I'm starting to believe this more and more.

Since I've returned home from St. Louis, I've gotten settled back into my house and into a scheduled nap and bed routine. Anyone who knows me knows how important this is for me. And Portia responds really well to it.

Most afternoons, Portia sleeps for three to five hours straight. Then I put her to bed at seven and she'll usually sleep until morning (usually around five or six to eat, then she'll go back and sleep until after nine).

I honestly didn't think babies like this existed. I'd heard things about them, but they were usually formula-fed or I simply didn't believe it.

This morning, after 6:30, I woke up ready to explode from not feeding Portia all night. I hadn't heard anything, but decided to creep into her room to make sure she was okay. (I know all moms do it, but I'm particularly afraid of something happening to my baby. I know firsthand how fragile babies are. And I pray every night that I get to keep this one.)

Anyway, she was awake, sucking on her fist, just waiting for me to come in and get her. Despite how hungry she was, just one look from me and she smiled so big. I can always make her smile even if she's so upset just by looking into her face. I fed her and now she's back in bed.

Bianca's in school now, so I've got time to start writing again, and reading more. Maybe a nap here or there. Perhaps to clean my house? (But let's not tell Eric that, as I really like the cleaning people to come.)

This past Saturday marked two years since Miranda passed. With Portia came less time to sit around feeling sorry for myself about losing my baby. It has become easier. Not because I don't feel the same way or love her, but because there's not as many moments that I sit down and let myself think about her. When I do, I'm just as sad as I was.

So maybe it's true. Maybe Miranda sent this perfect, easy baby to me to help me move forward and help me grieve a little less.

A relaxing night at the spa

Spas are not places where I feel comfortable. I know that's supposed to be the point of them: soothing, relaxing places where tranquil music plays overhead and comfortable chairs are set around nearby little pitchers of cucumber water and bell jars filled with mini muffins and scones and grapes. It smells heavenly like oranges or pears and expensive creams.

But my problem begins before, when the thought of spending $50 for a pedicure or $125 for a massage makes my stomach lurch. Add on top of that the dressing room where I'm extremely aware of how inadequate I feel about my not-back-to-prepregnancy-form body.

With the help of several of my wonderful book-club friends Christie, Christie, and Amber, I found myself in the dressing room changing into a robe at a local spa, still anxiously aware of my body, Thursday night. The sign "Embrace the silence" scared me as we were escorted in, knowing full well that silence is the antithesis of what my book club is all about. All we do is talk. Talk about books, life, everything.

But we tried to whisper and keep our laughing somewhat stifled. And they let us be a little raucous in the pedicure room, where four stations were set up altogether. The manager did, however, come and close the door. Didn't bother me. It was still relaxing sitting in a room with my friends, having my feet rubbed and soaked and babied.

And I deserved this three months after giving birth, rocking and incessantly feeding a crying baby, and dealing with the death of my father. My husband was on-board and gave me the green flag to leave the kids with him and go, relax, enjoy.

And I did. The four of us had dinner together before slinking into a quiet house at 11. The baby was sound asleep. Eric was waiting up, playing a video game. I sat down beside him and put my feet up on the coffee table next to where his were resting. I took one look at his cracked heels, compared them to my baby-smooth heels, and decided he definitely could use a pedicure.