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Dreams into Nightmares

I’ve always had vivid dreams. In high school I once dreamed that Adolf Hitler was nailing spikes into my brain. My brother, who was waking me up for school, tells me I said I couldn’t go because I was “napping in Australia” which is a hell of a commute. Another time I told my parents that the bed was full of broken glass.

All of this pales in comparison to the night mares I’ve been having lately since Ronan was born. I’m beginning to stress out about sleep because the nightmares are a whole new level of crazy.

My Mom had terrible dreams when her children were born. She was in a helicopter. We were hanging on my our fingernails to the skid as it dashed across the sky. She tried and tried to pull us in but she could never quite do that. So she would wake up, and at eight years old, she would tell me about this dream. At eight years old I don’t think you should get vivid descriptions of your parents’ nightmares, but there it was. It was slightly less terrifying for me than it was for her. I guess when you wake up you have to tell someone about these dreams.

I had to tell Terry immediately when I wore up from the latest one. Usually my dreams have something to do with me not being able to adequately take care of Ronan but this one was all mine. I dreamt that my parents and I went to Wall Street for lunch with my cousin, who’s a lawyer, and while waiting for her for hours we ended up battling werewolves with flamethrowers.

Why werewolves with flamethrowers? I don’t know. Flamethrowers are scary. Werewolves are scary. Werewolves with flamethrowers are more than twice as scary. The scariest part was not the pre-lycanthrope evil randomly bursting people into flame, it was that I grabbed one of the pre-lycanthropes and held it and it turned into a werewolf in my arms. That was terrifying because I couldn’t let go of the werewolf without being attacked myself. And then I had to deal with the flamethrower!

Needless to say I work up screaming. Terry, who is generally more sleep-deprived than I am, was very patient. I couldn’t go back to sleep so I got up at 6 AM. I took a nap later in the day and went right back to battling werewolves.

Thankfully I haven’t had that dream again. My dreams (what I remember of them) are more about breaking Ronan accidentally. In my dreams I have a kid made of corrugated cardboard and he folds up like book. I can hear his bones break as I try to support him correctly.

I think this dream is my subconscious trying to deal with Ronan’s inherent “sturdiness.” I didn’t make that term up – that’s the pediatrician’s terminology. Ronan is an exceptionally strong baby. He came out of the womb able to hold his head up. As a result we tend to forget to support his neck, and after a while his little head droops with exhaustion. I think that dream is myself telling myself to support his head.
The other dream I have again and again is dropping him. Out back room is an addition, and the doorway is about two feet thick, made of stone. In my dreams I accidentally ram poor Ronan into the doorway. His skull crushes like an egg. He’s dead and I killed him. End of dream.

Or, I’m carrying him through the apartment, and I lose control and drop him like a bowling ball. He rolls up into a ball and runs down the length of the place. When he hits the far wall, he explodes.

Obviously I’m feeling some pressure in taking care of him. Things are going really well in the waking hours, so I’m living out my fears in my dreams.

I can’t wait for the werewolves with flamethrowers to carry Ronan into the other room. That should end well…


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This page contains a single entry from the blog posted on April 26, 2007 1:12 PM.

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