Baby Dreams

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Last night I dreamed I gave birth to a baby girl.

It gets worse.

My husband wanted to name her Descendia. 

Which, on reflection, would have been the perfect name. Because if I gave birth to a baby at 46, I would feel as though I’d descended right into the pit of hell. 

Don’t get me wrong. I love babies. My happiest memories are of caring for our newborn children. If I could revisit any time in history, it would be 18 and 15 and nine years ago, snuggling my precious babies.

It’s not something I want to relive now, especially on the eve of launching our first daughter off to college. And certainly not in my late 40s. 

For the record, I wanted to name the baby Adette. 

Yeah. 

Not much better than Descendia, but when I googled it this morning, I discovered it was a real name listed on a baby name site. According to nameberry.com, Adette is a feminine name with French influences. “The 'ette' suffix typically indicates 'little' in French, suggesting 'little Ada' as a potential meaning.”

No matter its French interpretation, one can’t get past the English pronunciation. A debt. As in “Money owed by one party to another, typically with an obligation to repay it, often with interest, by a specified time.”

Not a bad definition of parenthood. At least on the really hard days. 

Vivid dreams are not unusual for me. And baby dreams aren’t unfamiliar territory. But I’ve never thought of looking into the meaning of these particular dreams. Don’t worry, I researched this with the utmost scientific approach, with an online dream interpreter. Assuredly, as accurate as Joseph in the Old Testament. 

But what I found was fairly interesting. “Major life transitions, relationship changes, or shifts in identity can all trigger dreams about fertility, babies, and new beginnings. Babies in dreams are also commonly interpreted as representing new projects, creative work, or parts of oneself that feel nascent or unfinished.”

This tracks. Our oldest daughter is moving into college. Our middle daughter is a few weeks away from getting her learner’s permit. Our son is about to be the first kid in our family to attend a public school. My homeschool-mom identity is experiencing a tremendous shift this year, from teaching three children to one. In my professional life, I’m about to publish a new book, which isn’t unlike giving birth. Everything about our family is about to change. My whole heart will no longer reside under one roof.

So it turns out I am expecting. Just not in the way that would require a car seat or an epidural. New books. New schools. New drivers on the road. A whole new version of this family, being born whether or not I’m ready.

Descendia, indeed.

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