What Does It Mean: A Tiny Baby Dream
Trying to understand, once again, where my mind is taking me when the bonnet is on and the world is off.
I know that I can’t sit and recall every dream. I cannot go online and find a perfect explanation for most of the ones that stick. Yet here I am, again, trying to figure out why my active mind had me in the middle of a family get-together taking care of somebody’s palm-sized baby.
Alright, Williams, let us not be one of those nose-in-the-air aspiring writers who says that he/she/they have such a brilliant and strange mind that their dreams often baffle them. Been there, done that, let’s have a hint of humility on this gloomy January afternoon.
Well, why is my mind so unusual during sleep? The experience of oddness in a dream is something we all experience as human beings. I believe, however, that we have dreaming moments that resonate within us forever. There are specific dreams from childhood that still linger at 38.
I like dreams that make a little sense. I love dreams that let me see long-gone family members. I can’t get over the ones where I take off flying like it’s so natural. I’ll even take the ones where I’ve been other people in various decades. It’s something about dreams with kids that sticks to me. I had them often when I lived in GA with my ex. A few were sprinkled into my 20s. The one I had a few days ago has lingered in my head since it happened.
What does it mean when you dream about a palm-sized baby?
Specifically, a palm-sized baby wrapped in a perfectly white towel. Male, beautiful dark skin, bright eyes, a little bit of hair, healthy little fusses — just… very small. He had one diaper by his side that was ridiculously too big for him. He was in bed just chillin’ and fussing. I was able to scoop him up with one hand. In my mind, I had the feeling that he was a cousin or some distant relative. He was fine, but alone. He belonged to somebody who’d gone off elsewhere.
It was such a strange moment. Here was the universe, once again, giving me a chance to take care of somebody’s kid. Just like I was a little scared taking care of my cousin back in 2016, I was afraid to pick up that tiny baby in my dream. What if I dropped him or held him wrong? Well, something kicked in and I handled it. I treated that tiny little gift like he was a precious crystal. It mirrored the softness I applied to my early treatment of my cousin. The moments I spent with her in the early years of her life were an amazing series of special little treats.
I wanted to make sure she felt comfortable and safe, so I took triple the amount of cautionary moments lifting and carrying her until I found a happy medium.
I held her with one hand while showing her the yard out back when she was about three months old. She looked around with bright eyes and kept her little head on my shoulder. When she smiled her first social smile at me, it was on the 1500-thread count pillowcase I ordered just so she could chill in bed while I worked on school stuff. I was overjoyed when she finally cut her teeth, and I could give her acceptable food like fruit and tiny tiny pieces of chocolate, and crushed mints. In those moments, I had a taste of semi-motherhood/guardian care.
As for the dream, I keep seeing Google results saying it’s all about “inner change and progress”. My subconscious is telling me that there are vulnerabilities on the table that need to be addressed. It’s not telling me I’m gonna be a mom, and I’ve made some peace with that. PCOS sort of dashed those dreams years ago, which hurt, but there have been moments in my life where caregiving and being able to give love sort of filled the void.
It was very unusual to see a baby that small. Everyone else in the room was going about their lives like his presence was natural and normal. I was trying not to scratch him with my acrylics, marveling at his size. The moment came and went so fast in the dream, but it’s all I remember from it.
I think about being somebody’s mom all the time, reflecting on how I was taken care of as a kid and how my cousins were reared. I think of school friends and church friends who had amazing and loving mothers. All the moms and grandmas put in a lot of work to make sure we were happy, warm, and fed. They put up with a lot of our craziness in the name of love and protection. It takes a lot to be a mom. It goes beyond dewy-eyed doting and heart-warming coos and cuddles. There is a lot of sacrifice involved. It might not be a world I’ll ever be able to be a part of, but it is a role that I fiercely admire.
As I say with most of the things I missed in this spin around the Sun…
Maybe next lifetime.
About the authoress: Veronica is a native Chicagoan currently residing in a small Tennessee town. Her hobbies include origami stars, basic tie-dyeing, and crystal collection. [contact info]
