Last night I had an awful dream. I was at my parents' house and I had a miscarriage. It was so real and so awful. I sobbed in my dream...and then I couldn't remember my doctor's phone number. I woke up at 5:15 AM and wasn't sure if it was real or not. Sometimes I have dreams that incorporate actual physical pain. For example, I've been known to dream that I was having a migraine, only to wake up and feel the actual pain. When I woke up I thought I felt cramps, which I know can be relatively normal in pregnancy. I wasn't really feeling any pain, but I ran to the bathroom just in case something awful was happening. Everything was fine. I am nearing the end of my 12th week, which means that this weekend I will enter my second trimester. I know that the risk of miscarriage drops significantly at this point, but I think I will worry until I actually give birth.
Enough of the literal dreams and on to the figurative ones. I've been wondering recently what will become of my dream to be a writer...a real writer, once I have a baby. My ambition has been rather non-existent over the last 2 months with all the nausea and migraines and fatigue. During the rare bursts of energy I feel, I tend to cook dinner, walk on the treadmill, or clean up around the house. What I long to do is write. I want to take the laptop with me and write down the ideas I have swirling around in my head. I want to develop the characters and the plot that has been living in me for almost a year. I have a great idea and what I think is a unique way to tell this story...but I don't write. I fall asleep on the couch at 8:30 PM. I watch reruns on TV and feel the energy get sucked out of my body. I believe that my energy will be restored shortly, but then what? We have so much to do around here in preparation for this summer. The spare room is filled with Patrick's and Duncan's clothing, which desperately needs to be bagged and brought to Goodwill. There is old furniture that needs to be donated and new things that need to be purchased. I wonder if I ever will write that novel. Will I ever achieve that dream? I try imagining myself at age 70, not having written it. I truly believe I will feel some sort of emptiness...a sadness and disappointment in something I let slip by me. I don't think it's a big deal if it never gets published, but the fact that this story will continue to only exist in my head, and not on paper, will bother me.
There are very few things in this world that I truly want to accomplish. I am living one right now. The other is just within my reach.