Since the Monkey was born, I’ve had a recurring nightmare. It usually happens every two weeks or so, and just thinking about it gives me goosebumps and makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
In my dream, I wake up for no reason in the middle of the night. The house is silent. All the lights are off. I walk into the Monkey’s room to check on him (something I don’t do in real life, because we have a video monitor and I never want to risk waking him up).
Sometimes he’s thrashing in his bed, struggling to breathe. Other times, he’s just laying there — completely still — not breathing.
I never find out what happens. As soon as I see he’s not breathing, I jerk awake — flinging covers off, arms and legs flailing, lunging for the video monitor. When I see his little chest rise and fall, I can finally gasp for air myself — I never realize I’m holding my breath until then.
I always wake the Hubbs when this happens. He looks at me like I’m crazy, asks if everything is OK, and at my nod, turns over and goes back to sleep. (Probably grumbling something about having an insane woman for a wife.
Dream analyzers will say that my dream is obviously rooted in fear. To which I say “duh.” I have had VERY GOOD reason to fear. We kept the Monkey in our room until he was 10 months old on doctor’s orders — because of his breathing issues (chronicled earlier), he was at increased risk for SIDS or sudden infant death syndrome.
And I’m NOT supposed to have nightmares over that?
I’m sharing this with you, because we got some good news yesterday. Great news. Fantastic news.
Yesterday was our check-in with McDreamy, the ear/nose/throat specialist. He took a look at the Monkey, noted that his weight has increased and that he is now in the 25th percentile (which means his nose is NOT affecting his eating), checked his ears, nose, and throat, and declared that we never had to see him again.
The Monkey has OFFICIALLY grown out of his laryngomalacia. His nasal passages are still small, and he’ll always have the pyriform aperture stenosis, but they’re big enough that when he has a stuffy/runny nose from teething, he can still sleep at night. By himself. Without me sitting in a chair all night. For a week.
In other words, CLEAN BILL OF HEALTH.
I could have kissed McDreamy then. Instead, the Hubbs and I settled for grinning like cheshire cats and congratulating our son for doing such a good job GROWING. You’d think he had told us the winning lottery numbers. I felt like collapsing into a puddle of relief.
I STILL am feeling that relief now. Because he’s strong. Because he’s grown out of it, just like they predicted. Because I finally feel like he’s SAFE.
And maybe, just maybe, the nightmares will go away.