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You know those dreams where out of nowhere you remember you have a final exam but you neglected to go to class all semester? For a few years after my mom died, I’d have dreams like that. But I didn’t forget class—I forgot my mom. The scenario usually involved me suddenly remembering that my mom moved and I never called or visited. I panic and call and she’s on the other end of the line completely unphased by the absence.

I had one of those dreams last night.

I did it to myself, really. When I went to bed I was thinking about what it would be like that day the baby is born: the frantic “it’s time!” phone calls; the drive to the hospital; that much anticipated “It’s a girl or it’s a boy” moment; the tears of joy... Then I remembered reading that having a baby—especially having a girl—can bring about a second round of mourning for women who’ve lost their mothers. “What if my tears of joy quickly turn to tears of loss?,” I thought.

Why do I think about such things before bed? Not smart.
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