Sync into sleep

Sleep is more and more elusive these days. Between the constant bathroom trips and the lovely sensation that my stomach is lodged in my throat, I'm waking up three or four times a night.

I've always had vivid dreams, but now the volume on those dreams is turned up extra high. I swear I can hear the mental chatter rev up again each time I wriggle back into the pregnancy pillow. It's not exactly hearing voices. It's more like tapping into a river of scolding opinions, whingy anxieties, and absurdist commands. I pick up my feet and yield to the current, hurtling downstream.

Last night, the chattering river tossed me on some nasty beach, where I found myself battling some evil thing. It was one of those nightmares from which I wanted an exit, but just couldn't find it.

That's when the baby intervened, with nine forceful kicks. Delivered like rapid-fire, rhythmic triplets, the kicks yanked me to instant wakefulness.

I thanked the baby, and stroked the right side of my belly to coax us back into sleep. What sleep did come was dark, silent, and delicious.

And I didn't wake up again until morning.