Recurring Dreams and Midnight Movies

Well...finals passed and I'm a week or so into SPRING BREAK, which mostly consists of me sleeping a lot and playing around with my kiddo instead of completing the to-do list I had carefully prepared for when school starts back up.   She is still awake right now; we have watched two movies and can't stop giggling whenever we make eye contact.  She was arguing with Daddy when he wanted to come to bed because there just isn't room for us plus her and at least one dog in a double bed.  So I came up with the idea of making her a bed on the floor and she is all about it.  

I continue to struggle out of the black pit I have been stuck in.  I keep having this dream...I'm in the house we lived in Miles City, moving around the tiny kitchen putting things away.  I can see the strange marbled pattern of the counters, the ancient fridge and the odd fan over the stove that opened directly to the outside world.  My belly bumps the counter; I look down and start to try to figure out what the hell is going on.  I realize it must be 2006 because my daughter isn't there.  I panic and check all the rooms for a sign of her, a toy, a blanket, a marker that's missing its lid.  I find nothing because in Miles City she didn't exist yet, but I miss her and wish for her happy shriek.  The baby kicks and it feels so familiar that my heart breaks.  I know exactly who it is.  I want him to stay so badly, but I can feel the inevitable pressing down on us.  I mostly just wake up somewhere in the middle of this panic attack, knowing I can't change anything, even in a dream.  Waking up is like someone just stole my sleeping son out of the cradle beside my bed.  Here one minute, gone the next.  That feeling of knowing its him and he is with me and safe and alive and thriving is so bittersweet because even in a dream state I know how the story goes.

A little extra time to do nothing and hang out with my daughter has helped a lot.    My house still isn't clean, but I finally got the puppy (now 10 months old) neutered.  I can still feel time marching inevitably forward, towards April and further from Miles City.  But I almost have a grip on myself again.