There was a bad dream last night.
He came into my room before dawn and hugged me.
Then he told me the plot and guilt set in like some suffocating vapor cloud.
It was the usual chased by monster dream with a knife-in-the heart-twist. The monster was me and I was trying to get him.
The standard, silent, mental tailspin: oh-my-god-what- is- wrong-with- my kid-what did-I-do-can-I-do-I-am-a bad-mother-repertoire ensued. It's a tic that happens now and again and it is heavily rooted in the "Please God don't let me screw up my kids" prayer I often utter during difficult times when I think I have no business in this role.
I know dreams can be unresolved feelings or things rolling around in your brain that are not literal but represent something else.
I went out last night with some friends. My departure was an up and downstairs flurry. I got home from work, went for a run, showered, gave quick kisses and left for dinner.
He was watching TV and playing dinosaurs. At 8, he barely jumps up for the kiss and this kills me. But I say nothing.
I guess subconsciously it was bothering him too.
"Were you upset that mommy went out last night?"
I was just a little bummed.
"Sometimes if you tell people how you are feeling, you won't have bad dream like that. And we can talk about it," I say.
I give him a hug. And he puts his head on my chest.
Can I turn on the TV now?
And just like that he's moved on.
But not me.
I am on the couch writing this and thinking I should never go out again.
Happy Mother's Day.
Stop that! You are a great mother. They'd be screwed up if you didn't go out.
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