a baby dream, a dream baby

I dreamed I had a baby. It felt real. I was sweaty and in pain. I pushed and you were there. I was afraid it would die. It lived. He lived. I think we named him Bruce. That felt weird in this dream, I remember. But I was so happy. I gave birth at home. A different home than our home, yet still ours. I left after the birth. I felt I had to flee, to give him a chance. You stayed with him and when I next saw you there was silence. I cried, knowing he had died. But he lived. There was shock, I think. From you and from me. I cried and cried and you told me he was alive. My heart lifted, joy grew. In my dream, I won 400 dollars. I didn’t care. I had a baby. Something bad happened to Carol in my dream. No one would say what. There was a meeting about it. I missed it, talking to my brother, about the baby. I came in, to that meeting room, a cafeteria I think. I was happy, but you were sad. I didn’t understand, so I moved on to someone else. I told her I had a baby. It was Julie. She was thrilled. I was thrilled. My body was quickly changing, back to something that felt more normal. More non-baby. I didn’t understand how it was happening so fast, but it didn’t really matter. I had a baby. I don’t know exactly when I woke up, but I felt it immediately. There was no baby. I quickly closed my eyes again. I willed it to come back. I relived parts of the dream, recreating what I remembered and wanted so desperately to be real. I squeezed myself together, folding in on the truth. There was nothing there. I grew angry at you. In real time, in real life. It wasn’t your fault, my dream. I couldn’t help myself. I felt empty. I feel a little empty. It felt so real. I want it to be real. Sadness laid on me as my eyes saw the real world. Dreams have a way of showing you things, all kinds of things.