For all those trying to conceive – doesn’t this make you ache for a baby? It’s a simply beautiful clip.
The expressions on this baby’s face make me think of how our future child might look as it dreams of us.
I dreamt of our baby last night, it was my second dream of our child in the last few weeks. Both times I was breastfeeding her, (she’s always a girl in my dreams), and the love flowing between us was incredible. In the first dream I gave birth to her, lifted her between my legs and laid her on my chest where she found her way to my breast unaided and began feeding. After some time she finished and I lifted her up and she ‘bit’ my finger, I laughed and knew she was going to be a feisty one. Then I realised I hadn’t looked at her face, so I held her slightly away from me and looked at her. She looked up at me with the most phenomenal eyes, hazel green with pale brown flecks, and I saw an old soul staring out at me. I was transfixed and began to cry as she held my eyes with an unwavering gaze. The dream last night was shorter and what I remember most from it was the feeling of pure love between us and how wonderful it was to nurture her through the act of breastfeeding.
These dreams mean a lot to me. They sustain my hope. But it wasn’t always like that.
When I was last pregnant, around the time that our baby died and just before we found out, I dreamt that I was full term with her. She was facing the wrong way up, and then suddenly she moved into a head down position. I watched my stomach move and felt the movement of her body twisting and moving my internal organs aside as she manoeuvred, turning and readying herself for birth. The sensation was extraordinary and I woke with the feeling still tangible. I could ‘physically’ feel it for days after the dream and it moved me to tears.
A number of weeks later I was again in tears, but they were not ones of joy. Instead I was breaking down in a post miscarriage hypno-counselling grief session with the woman we had intended to teach us hypnobirthing. The sense of physical and spiritual loss of my child was extremely painful to me, and this was being exacerbated by the memory of my dream. At that stage I was terrified that after two unexplained miscarriages, maybe I would never carry a baby to term. I felt that perhaps the dream was going to be as close as I would ever get to feeling the sensation of carrying a baby inside of me. My lovely counsellor asked me if I had considered the possibility that instead, maybe the dream was a message from our future child, a gift to tide me over until I experienced it for real, an insight into the blessing that was yet to come.
She asked me to place my hands on my stomach. I couldn’t. Since the miscarriage, not only had I not been able to bear for my wife to place her hands there, but I couldn’t touch my stomach without feeling sick and breaking down. After many tears and a few solid minutes of gentle encouragement I finally managed to tentatively lay my hands across my stomach. She had me breathe and think of our future child, feel forgiveness for my body and send healing to my womb. It was painful and it was wonderful. An unbelievably huge challenge, and a sweet release.
From that time on I have thought of the dream as a promise from our child, and I believe that one day I will actually feel that sensation of a child turning within my body.
Every dream we have of the baby I treat as a gift from our future child and I hope our baby is dreaming of us too.