in the dreaming

Last night i fell asleep at nine, cuddled up with Eli, and awoke with creases on my face an hour later when Jeremy came into the bedroom to pack. he's headed to Phoenix this morning, so we woke up early today (5:40), but i feel rested. i miss him when he's away. i hold down the fort here at home while he goes off to the trenches armed with an acoustic guitar.

i almost always remember my dreams; they are vivid. last night i dreamed i was with a slew of Italian relatives (my mom's side.) a lot of them were people i have never seen in 'awake' life before, and when that happens i wonder...how do people you do not know in real life end up in your dreams? are they people i glanced at while sitting in traffic or pumping gas who managed to slip into my sub-conscious, waiting to reappear as my Great-Aunt Rose at an imagined family reunion in my sleep? or does my sleeping mind just invent them out of thin air? this is puzzling. at any rate, it was fun to be with my dream-relatives, kissing both cheeks as we greeted one another. a lot of old ladies with white hair and chubby bodies from all the pasta.

this morning Eli is tucked in his crib under a stack of blankets. the heater buzzes. i wonder what he dreams about and if it involves doing things he cannot yet do...like chasing the dog around the backyard, or catching fish, or asking for a piece of chocolate cake.

he can do one thing though: he can play the piano. we have noticed his affinity for instruments for awhile now. he loves to listen (and sort-of sing) while Jeremy plays our old upright. the other day he was crawling from room to room and we suddenly heard a banging of keys. we peeked around the corner and there was Eli, having pulled himself up against the piano bench, the tips of his fingers just barely able to reach the keys. he couldn't see them, but he was playing...


he has done this several times now, and glances back over his shoulder to make sure we are watching. he awaits our applause, grinning proudly.


so perhaps he dreams that he is Michael Bublé (it is possible), playing a concert (or a Starbucks commercial) before thousands of adoring fans. one day soon i will ask him if this is so, and he will answer.

i realized the other day that i am not just responsible for raising a baby. i am raising a child, a teenager, a man. i am impacting the person he will become.

someday, this little sixteen pound ball of limitless energy, wide-eyes, and a love of cheerios will stop peering over his shoulder for our encouragement and go off to the trenches himself. i am sure we will still be there applauding, of course, but it will be different. Eli will be standing on his own two legs without wobbling. i will be dreaming different dreams by then, and probably be white-haired and chubby. from all the pasta.