There's nothing quite like a toddler kick to the head to get you to remember your dreams.
Chou is in her big girl bed, sure, but she's not staying in it all night. Sometimes, yes, but with eye teeth coming in and a snotty nose, she's been miserable. She wakes at 2 in the morning snurgly and angry and in need of snuggle time. I try and keep her in her room, but at that hour all I want to do is go back to my warm bed. So I, being the weak mother, bring her back to our bed and get a few more blissful hours of sleep.
That is until she has one of her rearranging sessions and ends up sideways, upside down and flailing at 4 in the morning.
Did I mention she never ever slept in our bed until a few months ago? Those were the days.
The unexpected side effect to this early morning flail is that I'm remembering oh so many more of my dreams. I've always been a vivid dreamer and used to love waking up laughing or simply happy having enjoyed fun or excitement while I slept. Sure, there are the bad ones, but the good drastically outweigh the bad.
This morning, for instance, I dreamed I was Chuck Bass's lady love (you don't watch Gossip Girl? Shame on you!), and had to save him from imprisonment by a well-meaning aunt trying to get him to clean up his act. Most of the dream I spent on horseback, riding through a mansion, up stairs, over fallen tables and the like (I know, WTF?). Sad for me, but most of the dream was spent saving, and not smooching, Chuck. But I also penned a lovely letter to my trapped darling. I woke up giggling.
See? There's a good side to mummyhood and the sleep interruptions. Really, there is.