Dreams...

I woke up from a horrible dream today. It was an incredibly emotional dream.

In the dream, my husband and I were driving home from work and saw a young black toddler girl running (or rather toddling quickly) on the dashed line between the number one and number two lanes on the freeway. It was as if no one saw her, or no one cared. After a bit of effort, my husband and I were able to pull over, wait until a moment when there was a gap in traffic on the number one lane, and rush in to save her. I remember the panic and horror, watching cars come too close for comfort to her, her crying out of fear and confusion, and me feeling totally helpless. It reminded me of a time in real life when a stray puppy started following me home, and couldn't be dissuaded. I eventually had to encourage the puppy to follow me across a busy street so I could control his timing and he would have less of a chance of getting hit. Just as I was crossing the street, though, the little puppy stopped to pee. When he finished, he ran across the street to reach me, but it was too late, and a car hit him hard in the hip, breaking at least one of his legs. I felt so guilty for not protecting this poor puppy, and then had no choice but to get on my bus and leave him in the hands of some people in the neighborhood. I had no phone, no money to make any calls, was in a very unsafe neighborhood, would have had no way to contact a vet or my parents, and would have had to wait another hour in the neighborhood as it became dark and even less safe. I know I made the right decision leaving the puppy with the other people, but I still felt like it was so much my responsibility and I had just left him. I checked back with several people in the neighborhood over the next few weeks, but no one had any idea what I was talking about, and I never heard what happened to the poor guy. Watching the girl in my dream running, and not immediately being able to save her, and the fear that looking at her might cause her to run the wrong way and get hit, all gave me nearly crippling fear, and a huge feeling of anxiety and nausea.

This is not the end of the dream, nor why it was so emotional and harsh.

We saved her. I made sure she was safe. I overcame my fear and was the only person to make any attempt to save her. I was the only person who seemed to care. My husband and I did the right thing.

Then, in the dream, instead of immediately calling 911 and having police and medical involved to ensure she was safe and could be reunited with her family, I decided she must be running on the freeway because of unfit parents, and that she was some sort of divine gift to me. I found her, I saved her, I could keep her. The fact that I later discovered she had blue eyes, like me, only seemed to reinforce this idea in my mind--something like serendipity. We stopped at a store with her on the way home and roughly estimated her age and diaper size, clothing size, and dietary needs. Finally, we headed home with her. She seemed happy, and we took this to mean we were doing the right thing and she now belonged with us. We bathed her, fed her, played with her, and went to sleep with her, all without once calling the authorities. We even stopped somewhere to make dinner reservations for Thanksgiving, adding her to the attendance count.

Then I woke up. When I woke up, I remembered thinking I should call the authorities. I remember thinking that what we were doing was not entirely saving her. She should be checked by a doctor for any injuries, and in the case of her running off (and her real parents not being to blame), who was I to decide they were ultimately unfit as parents and I would be the best candidate to raise this child. I remember thinking all these things in the dream, knowing my actions and reactions and lack of acting was so so wrong, but doing them anyway, out of desperation and selfishness.

It broke my heart to think that subconsciously, in a dream, I could take actions that were clearly so fundamentally wrong, and rationalize them as being right. I had, after all, SAVED the little girl's life.

She was such a lovely child, too.

Catharsis

Today, I had a productive day at work, and then a productive day at home. I did a deep cleaning of my apartment. I am not always the tidiest of people, and my husband is usually way too busy to clean much, but I make sure I do at least half-an-hour's worth of cleaning everyday. Today was far more productive than usual, though. There is something truly peaceful about knowing that everything is clean and in its rightful place. When I used to get angry or depressed, I could always be found in the bathroom or kitchen, scrubbing the floor by hand one foot at ta time. I would scrub for hours and hours. I think it made me feel the same way that runners feel about going for a run...it was cathartic. When I am doing deep cleaning, time and the worries and the entire world melt away. I get lost deep deep in my thoughts, and don't know what is going on around me. I think this is one of the only times that I allow myself to be creative anymore. I too often feel guilty taking time to daydream -- it isn't productive. I feel more at peace today, though, because of this cleaning.

I think it also helps that my cleaning music tends to be Bright Eyes circa 2002. :)

Sad.

It makes me sad when I think about how quickly time is flying by and how quickly we are aging, yet we have not gotten half of what we wanted. I know we have time, but it is disheartening. I have been jogging lately, which really means jogging for as long as I can and then walking casually for long periods of time while I catch my breath. The neighborhoods near where I live are all very quiet, nice, family-type neighborhoods. Everyone is walking dogs or pushing strollers or tending to gardens in that part of town. It is a constant reminder. While I technically have a stroller to push, not having a baby in it would be very unusual. I have no garden. I have no house. When I think about the adoption process, I feel an unspoken pressure to have more and be more. It may not be a criteria, officially, but I know it is frowned upon to give lovely abandoned children to parents who rent apartments and drive cars with electrical problems and who have no savings to speak of. If I need more, and need to be better, to have a baby given to me, I am nauseated at where to start. I mean, really.  I couldn't see a fertility specialist until after a year of being unsuccessful, and then it was almost a full year until I went through treatment. Without any savings, we're looking at a minimum of two years to put together a down payment for a house. If we go that route, school is out of the question for me. I don't want to go back to school, but I feel like we'd have a better chance of having a baby given to us if at least one of us has a degree. So, if I go the school route, we're looking at four years before we can have a house. That means at least five years before we'd be able to have a child adopted to us, assuming the good folks working for adoption agencies are really looking out for the best interest of the children involved. That's five years if we really start working toward that goal now. Not tomorrow. So, say I fall asleep tonight, and the world spins so fast as it does and suddenly it is next year, and it is all just too late? Then what? Disheartening, isn't it?
I don't want to give up, but I also don't know if I can go a total of seven or more years with the singular goal of trying to have a baby. I don't know if I have the strength. Sad.

Today, at work, the loveliest thing happened. A woman came up to me to tell me that her  3 year old grandson, who was not with her today, had a puppy dog crush on me. I've never met the boy, but he looks for me whenever shopping, and talks about me at his house. I think that was just about the sweetest thing anyone has ever told me.

Toddlers can be so cute sometimes.