I dream of children. Twins.
They are not ours right now. They are still waiting. Waiting for the right time to come to us. The kids are a bit older. Dex is in that awkward preteen age. Lola is in school.
They are fraternal twins. A boy and a girl.
They are born between 28 – 32 weeks.
They are tiny. So tiny.
They tell me she is a fighter.She is doing well.
We call her Augie.
In my dreams, we have never given our little boy a name.
Maybe, he doesn’t have one yet.
When we get to take her home, he is not ready to come home. He is still fighting.
But he is still alive.
He is still ours too.
I’m not sure if we get to ever bring him home. I have never dreamt any more than this. Sometimes, I dream snippets of kangaroo care cuddles. Of first feeds. Of tiny hands through humidicrib windows. I dream of being unsure. Of being restless.
I’m not sure when these babies will be given to us.
I’m not sure that they will ever be given to us. Maybe they are not ours in this lifetime.
Maybe, when the gods or the goddess’ or the earth decides we are ready, they will come.
Maybe when our babies decide they are ready, they will come. Because really, no one is ever ready for the change a child brings.
I understand a lot of people might find this hard to take.
A dream of babies? Means nothing.
But it does to me. I know in my heart of hearts, they are ours.
I can feel them. How they are meant to be inside of me.
I feel them waiting.
I will feel them in my arms, one day.