My mother in law says that if you have a bad dream, you need to tell people about it—that way it won’t come true.
That said, I had a dream last night that I miscarried. Without getting too detailed, the miscarriage revealed that I was never pregnant with a real baby, but was in fact carrying a small statue of St. Francis, a ceramic turtle, and a little figurine of an Italian boy.
As ridiculous as I know this dream is in the light of day, it didn’t seem so ridiculous at 4 o’clock this morning and I woke up really feeling that loss. Not the greatest way to start the day.
Fortunately, we get to see our little monster again tomorrow afternoon when I meet with my OB for the first time. I’m half excited and half terrified. I keep wondering why on earth we decided to tell everyone so soon and wishing we’d waited—but I know why we told when we did, and we had good reasons. I just need to work on keeping things in perspective. Losing one baby does not automatically mean losing both. The odds are in our favor on this one.
Cross your fingers for us that we get to end 2014 on a happy note tomorrow and that we won’t find St. Francis or any of his friends hanging out anywhere near my uterus.