It has been two years now since we brought Lily home, and right from the beginning I hated every time she cried out in her sleep. At first, her night-time cries were simply physical distress. Later, when she hit that moment in her development when she had night tremors, I comforted myself with the fact, as doctors re-assured me, that she wasn’t really dreaming, but we now that she can talk, we can no longer pretend that she isn’t having nightmares.
Last week, the night after we returned from our grand trip to Houston, she woke up crying “truck blown away, truck blown away!” (We had seen a pretty terrible wreck on the interstate, one in which one of the vehicles, a six-wheeled panel truck, was on fire, sending up huge plumes of smoke in the misty rain of the day. We had, however, said nothing about what had happened, no mention of blowing up or away.)
Later in the week, she woke up screaming “my blanket, my blanket. It’s my blanket!” We both rushed to her and all of us ended up sleeping in her bed.
And this morning she woke up crying “go home! go home!”