My nightmare was so excruciatingly vivid that I woke up and for a moment didn't realize it was only a dream.

Abstract image of a nightmarish shape with jagged edges
Image created via Midjourney 

I suppose I should reflect on the lighter moment of my OB appointment last Friday.  I was so affected by the experience that I could only write about the traumatic part.  But my doctor said, "Oh hey - you only gained 2 pounds since your last visit, and with the holidays in there, nicely done!"  To which I responded wryly, "Yeah, well, vomiting throughout most of the holiday season put a damper on eating much."

I also had to take a depression screening survey at the beginning of the appointment.  I knew what the survey was looking for, and knew that if I gave truthful responses, it would likely set off some type of warning flag for them.  Questions like "Do you cry often?"  "Do you feel anxious?"  Well, yes, but with good reason.  

So I debated lying on the survey but finally decided to be truthful.  Sure enough, I "failed" the test, or earned too many points, or whatever.  I was like, "Not to worry — I'm in therapy."  Once I said that, everyone settled down.

Quentin was a nightmare on Sunday at bedtime.  I don't even know what started it, but it resulted in a full-out tantrum and him banging on his bedroom door to the point where I was concerned about damage to the door.  I finally told him that if he did not stop, I was going to take EVERY SINGLE STUFFED ANIMAL out of his room.  

Clearly, he didn't believe me, because a few minutes later that was exactly what I was doing: removing every one of his stuffed animals to the master bedroom.  That got his attention and he demanded them back.  I sat with him until he finally composed himself, and then told him that he could not have his animals back that night, but if he was well-behaved, he could have them back the next day.  He finally climbed into his bed and snuggled with his blanket.

I woke up from my own nightmare that night — a nightmare during which, once again, I was told that our baby had no heartbeat.  It was so excruciatingly vivid that I woke up and for a moment didn't realize it was only a dream.  

I am in an odd place right now, where nausea has subsided, but too early to feel movements from the baby, so it is that "hardly seems real" place.

I spent yesterday with both kids, Theo having no school and daycare being closed for MLK day.  Quentin was incredibly remorseful about the previous night and sheepishly hauled all of his stuffed animals back into his room.  He also willingly helped me with the laundry to make amends.  

I had to debate frigid temperatures versus being stuck in the house all day, and we bundled up and trudged out to Trader Joe's for a quick errand.  I had started a loaf of bread on Sunday, so then finished it up on Monday.  Bread-making may become my new weekend ritual.  And the loaf turned out gorgeously.

A small child with black hair mixing dough
Bread making