Nightmares on Crib Sheets
My earliest memories involve nightmares. Waking up screaming and
sweating, waiting to be rescued by my mother in her nightgown or my
father rubbing his eyes.
Most nights they would take me back to bed with them, or my mother would sing to me or my Dad would scratch my back.
The
nightmares persisted, almost every night for five years. Eventually the
nightmares became less. I started sleep-walking instead. Once I
sleepwalked to the staircase and tumbled all the way down. I woke up
bleeding from the head and totally confused. But most of the time I
just woke up in the bathroom or on the bedroom floor. There was nothing
worse, though, then the nightmares. I had a recurring fear of skinny
objects. A phobia. In my dreams toothpicks had legs and they were all
marching side by side, thousands of them, kind of like that scene with
the broomsticks in Fantasia.
I hadn’t thought about my
nightmares in forever. Not until Archer started waking up screaming.
Standing in his crib, holding open his curtains, staring out the window
like he was watching something horrific. Sweating and shaking– totally
inconsolable.
This has been going on, now, for the last few
nights and I don’t know what to do. I wish I knew what the dreams were
about but he cannot tell me. He just screams and shakes and I do what
my parents did for me, rub his back, sing to him…
The ants go marching one by one, hoorah.
…Until he falls back asleep, up against me on the couch or in bed.
Like
right now. His little head on my lap as I type this from the safety of
our couch, where nightmares cannot reach him for whatever reason.
I remember feeling so safe between my parents, like nothing could touch or harm me. Like everything was going to be okay.
I knew that Boogie-men couldn’t reach me and there was no such thing as
monsters under my parent’s bed. Not even marching skinny toothpicks
could find their way back into my subconscious.
In many ways I
still believe that– that when something scary happens, or upsetting,
that I can just run away to my parent’s house. That they will take care
of me. Protect me from boogie-men or the scary things in life. The
complexities. The fears of having so much responsibility, of feeling
unprepared for domestic life– for marriage and motherhood and being an
adult. Waking life can be just as scary, just as out-of-control as
nightmares. Sometimes even worse. The inner-demons we wrestle with in
our waking life cannot be killed with a lullaby or a parent’s warm
embrace.
I look at Archer, asleep in my lap and I think, “I am
his safety. Nightmares do not reach him here.” But one day they will.
One day he will wake up a man. And his nightmares will all but be
forgotten, the tremors of real life taking their place, and he will
come to me for safety and suddenly realize that the only person who can
protect him from his fears and chase away the boogie-men is himself.
That growing up means having to sleep alone sometimes, with bad dreams
and the ominous shadows that filter in through open windows.
And
he will want so badly to lie beside me, to believe me when I say,
“everything is going to be okay” and so will I. Because a parent wants
nothing more than for their child to be happy. To sleep soundly. But a
parent can only do so much.
No matter how much we want to chase
away our children’s nightmares, protect them from heartache, from their
inner-demons, we are powerless. There will come a point when we cannot
bring our babies to bed with us to stop the crying.
It has been
difficult for me to come to recognize this about myself– that knocking
on my parent’s door in the middle of the night will not make my
boogie-men go away. Because I’m not the child anymore. I am the parent.
I cannot seek protection, I must protect. I am the safety. I’m the one
who opens the door.
I have the answers. Somewhere in here.
***
Oh, I hear you. I had the same, and the sleep walking, and they even developed into night terrors. Unfortunately, my parents just said, “don’t be ridiculous!” and sent me back to bed. Not so much with the consoling.
I worry that my little one will suffer the same, and she’s only 2 months old. I wonder what she dreams about when she wakes up already upset. Empty boobs? A swing that won’t? Poopy diapers that don’t get changed?
Like you, I want to be there for her. Thankfully, I married a man who has always been there for me during my nightmares. And he never calls me ridiculous.
Sounds like night terrors… a more advanced nightmare. VERY common in boys. I feel your pain. If he is standing there, inconsolable and there’s not much you can do to get through to him, it’s a night terror! Sleep walking is also part of night terros. He’s actually not awake and when he’s verbal, you’ll know b/c when you talk to him about it, he won’t remember.
My son had them for a while and he still occasionally does. Mostly when he’s over-tired. He never remembers how totally freaked out he is. I got lots of advice from people through the years. When he was at the height of them, I was told to track when it occurred and if it regularly happened at a certain time, to wake him before that time and that would divert the night terror. He was too unpredictable for that so I can not give you any feedback on its success! Sorry.
I find now, what works best (albeit night terrors are more rare for us) is to get him in a room with a dim light (so it’s not so shocking) and a mirror. For some reason, seeing himself helps him awaken and get it together. I hold him and we both look in the mirror. I speak to him softly, telling him mama’s here, just a dream, we’re at home, we are safe, all is well. After that I lay him back down, rub his back, scratch his head.
Oh, how terrible. Definitely not looking forward to that.
Another poignant piece of writing – thanks. I have always felt the same way about my parents – they are my safety. My son is 21 months now and it freaks me out that he’s counting on ME for the same thing. ME! (what is he crazy?!) I just hold him and love him and look after him as best I can and hope that he’s full grown before he realizes that my “boogey-man banishing” skills are all so much smoke and mirros.
This reminds me of a post I wrote a few weeks ago. Jack’s sleep-walking is now occurring with less frequency, but I still sleep lightly listening for him.
“Last week Jack fell out of bed again although from our room it sounded more like he attempted a Yurchenko on the vault and over-rotated the double salto triple twist layout dismount. As any father who is jolted from sleep by a mandatory one-point deduction coming from his child’s room would do I jumped out of bed, stepped on the cat, pinballed against our bedroom door jam and stumbled into Jack’s bedroom where I found him crying on the floor next to his bed. After scooping him up, checking him repeatedly for any sign of injury, hugging him and telling him that “Daddy’s Here” then tucking him back under the covers he was back to sleep in less than a minute. Conversely, I was wide awake as my heart hammered out Van Halen’s Hot for Teacher drum intro, grateful to have purchased the night light with the optional defibrillator attachment….”
Gawd, I know that feeling, hearing the sound. Being jolted awake wirth horror. Great passage, Vill and Kelly Graham? Could not have said it better myself.
Bill, I mean, not *Vill*. Oy!
Inarticulate crying communicates basic emotional pain and through the sharing with someone (a parent) who cares does mitigate the horror. Being there, listening, does it all. Pain and suffering underlie the human condition. Damn.
Grannie Anne
Very interesting you had nightmares about skinny toothpicks. I had nightmares about fat, smooth cheesesticks that shriveled and wrinkled up like a raisin. For some reason, it was terrifying and still gives me the willies.
And what a touching post. My girl is 2 months and the saddest moments I’ve had is looking into her sweet trusting eyes and knowing that one day i won’t be able to help her or understand her personal pain. Heart breaking.