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AVA
My whole life, as far back as I can remember, I’ve had nightmares about babies.
Gory, horror-driven dreams that rival that unforgettable scene in the movie Alien where the bloody head of a razor-toothed baby alien bursts through the chest of actor John Hurt, sending a fountain of blood flying everywhere.
Throughout my punishing pregnancy, these horrific dreams have bombarded me, sometimes making me dread going to bed at night. Most of them have taken place in a dark, putrid subterranean place that I believe symbolizes hell. Monsters abound, even the devil himself. I’m trapped there.
In tonight’s dream, I’m back in this scary space, seated on my recliner, holding Isa. So sweet and content in my arms. My spectacular daughter.
Suddenly, my mother appears out of nowhere. A phantom I can see through. Mercury-gray venom pours from her dark, dead eyes.
“Babies are the end of everything. Get rid of her!”
“No, Mother! I love her!”
She tries to wrench my baby from me. I fight her, but she’s invincible.
“You naughty girl. You will pay for not listening to me.”
She snaps her bony fingers and before I can blink, a massive knife appears out of nowhere. I can’t get out of the recliner. I’m tethered to the leather.
Like a spear, the blade descends upon us. Then, splat. Blood, blood everywhere. I hear my mother’s wicked laugh, but before I take my last breath…
I snap my eyes open and bolt to a sitting position. The jolt of pain so great I cry out.
Though bathed in a feverish sweat as warm and wet as blood, I’m alive; I feel my heart racing as daylight streams through the sliding glass doors. Ned’s not in the bed beside me. Perhaps he’s gone for a jog. Not dwelling on where he is, I ignore the gnawing pain in my groin and, with my heart in my throat, hurry to the nursery. I fear something has happened to my baby. To my Isa. That my dream is a premonition.
Fear seizes me like a vise. Isa’s not in her crib nor is Nurse Marley there. My heart hammering, I stagger out of the room to the kitchen, hoping to hear a sign.
Close to collapsing, I stop dead in my tracks and let out an audible sigh. Nurse Marley is back, seated at the island and feeding Isa a bottle.
“Thank God,” I breathe out, brushing sweat beads off my forehead.
Without stopping her machinations, Nurse Marley looks up at me. Back in her white uniform, she looks well rested and in control. And incredibly beautiful. How does she do it?
“Are you okay, hon? You look like you just saw a ghost.”
Maybe I have. I can only imagine how frightening I must look. Ghoulish and zombie-like. Catching my breath, I amble toward her, growing stronger and more composed, knowing that Isa is fine. And in good hands.
“And why are you up so early?” My baby’s caregiver frowns. “One of the reasons you hired me is to get more sleep and regain your strength.”
I love that she cares about me as much as she cares about my baby. She is truly a godsend.
“I had a really bad dream. It woke me up.”
She nods. “I made a banana-strawberry smoothie with your almond milk and some non-GMO organic honey. Help yourself to some and come join us. Tell me about it.”
Passing on the smoothie, I plop down next to her. Still shaking, I relay my dream, play by play, not leaving out a detail. It feels good to unload on someone—this woman who more and more seems like a friend. Someone I can trust and confide in.
She listens intently without interruptions, taking in every word. At the end of my narrative, I tell her I think there’s something wrong with me.
“There’s nothing wrong with you, my dear Ava. Nightmares, like the one you described, are typical of postpartum depression. They will eventually go away.”
“They will?” I say hesitantly, not telling her that dead-baby dreams have beleaguered me my entire life.
“Trust me, I’ve seen this kind of thing a lot, and yes, they will.”
“What do you think the dream symbolizes?”
