It is not an exaggeration when I say I haven't slept through the night since the third trimester of my first child...seven and a half years ago. There have only been a handful of nights where I enjoyed uninterrupted sleep for more than four hours. Recently, we have made progress in this department and I am actually reaching a level of sleep where I dream again.
Of course, my first dream in seven and a half years was a busy, bizarre non-sequitor that left me exhausted and confused when I awoke.
Dreams have been on my mind lately. I starting thinking about dreams in the sense of goals, aspirations, desires.
At seventeen, I dreamed that I would be a rock star/actress/russian translator, living in LA or Moscow.
In my twenties, I dreamed that I would meet Prince Charming and be rich rich rich living in a castle, with my fabulous best seller topping the charts.
(In my thirties, I was too busy for dreaming.)
Now, as I begin my forties, I wonder if my seventeen and twenty year old selves would be much disappointed that none of her dreams came true. I moved two miles from my childhood home, I am not an actress and the only russian I learned was from watching Sean Connery in "Hunt for Red October." I did not write my best seller. I do not live in a castle.
However, I did marry Prince Charming*, gave birth to two beautiful princesses and have riches that money can't buy. And I am happy. Contentment wraps around me like a snuggie fresh from the dryer.**
I'll still dream about the future, but I'll do so without regret for those dreams that might not come true. Now, if I could just get Dave to build me that castle.
*Actually, Prince Philip. He was more my romantic style. Dancing in the woods and all that.
**I do not actually own a snuggie. Maybe in my fifties.