I had a dream last night.
In the dream, I had a baby. It was a boy.
I wasn't expecting to have a baby and I was completely unprepared. The baby was really, really early but it didn't look scary like my children did when they were born. It just looked like a regular baby. It was a normal size.
I had to carry him everywhere, because I didn't have a car seat. I didn't have anything I was supposed to have. I didn't mind though. He was slight and sweet and never cried. He was perfect. And he was mine.
Someone came to me. I don't know who it was, but they were someone in a position of authority. I knew it. They told me I couldn't keep the baby. That even though he was mine and I loved him, he couldn't be mine anymore.
They took him away.
And then I saw his gravestone.
I drove away from his grave and to my house, where a moving van was loading up everything I owned. I had to go away. I couldn't have anything. If I had even one little second of happiness, I had to lose everything.
The dream was, in case it's not obvious, pretty much completely horrible.
When I woke up I was relieved it wasn't real. But I also wondered.
Will I spend the rest of my life associating having a child with loss?