I had a dream last night that we had a baby. A little boy, just a few months old. I don't know what his name was, but it was a very long dream where we spent time holding and feeding him, trying to figure out his car seat, and basically taking care of him.
The dream itself was random—either J or I was in school, and we brought the baby to class. Other parts of it made absolutely no sense. But the pervasive feeling through the whole thing was JOY. SO much joy. I can't think of the last time I felt so happy. (Yes I can, it was when I found out I was pregnant with the boys.)
And then the dream was over, and I woke up. I tried to hold onto that dreamy happiness for a minute, before I slowly woke up and settled back into the reality of life. I felt guilty, because the baby in my dream was not Asher, and he was not Evan. I feel guilty for wanting any child besides them, because I want them more than I can possibly express in words. But maybe that's part of moving toward acceptance—accepting the fact that I cannot have them here, and recognizing that it's OK to long for their little brother or sister. Just becuase I want another child does not mean that I love Asher or Evan any less, or that I miss them any less.
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