A couple of nights ago, our 2 1/2 year old Maisy woke up crying and calling for Mommy. Rick was the first one up (he often heroically is first up in the middle of the night, at least until Baby Boy comes along in a month), so I heard her tell him tearfully, "I w-wanted s-syrup on my pancaaaaakes..."
Even though it was the middle of the night, and she was clearly very upset, I had to smile to myself and go to her. Especially since it turned out "Mommy" was the one withholding the syrup!
So that's what my toddler's nightmares are about: Pancakes with no syrup. After a bit of rocking and reassuring her that it was just a dream, and she would certainly have syrup with her pancakes next time... and after a few songs to soothe her back towards sleep, I went back to bed myself. And smiled again at the simplicity of her bad dream.
I thought a little more (because these very-pregnant-days, once I'm awake, it takes me over an hour to get back to sleep), and suddenly felt oddly grateful for my daughter's syrup-nightmares. I know with certainty that there are children who wake up in the night with scarier dreams based on the kinds of realities that no little ones should have to face. And I know there are children who wake up crying in the night with no one to rock and reassure and sing a soothing song. Or children whose parent may be a reassuring presence one night, completely absent the next, and as frightening as their dreams the next. I pray for those little ones, and for the big kids they grow up to become.
I soothe and discipline and love my daughter with a steady consistency, because here is the child I've been given to nurture, and these are the critical years I've been given to do it.
These are the things a very-pregnant-mommy thinks about in the middle of the night when her daughter wakes up from a Syrup Nightmare.
