I was in a deep sleep last night when I heard Auden cry out. The house was dark. Aida and Auden had gone to sleep hours before and I'd probably been in a slumber for about an hour.
I padded down the hallway to Auden's room, his inconsolable cries drawing me toward him. I picked him up, rocked him in the rocking chair, sang to him until he was calm. I rose from the rocker, his head on my shoulder, and lowered him into his crib again.
As soon as my hands no longer held him, he resumed his cry.
Bed. I needed bed.
"Mommy sleep," he said, his plea to me to stay in the room and lie down so that he can fall asleep while I am still in the room.
Exhausted and not up for a fight to try to keep him in the crib, I did as he requested. I crawled into the daybed near his bed. He quieted. I fell asleep.
This dream: I woke, walked into the hallway, gathered my cell phone and charger from the floor and then walked down the dark hall to Aida's room to discover horror. Her bedroom had been ransacked, her bed overturned, her windows flung open.
I tried to scream, to call out for her. But it was a dream, so my voice didn't sound.
I tried again. This is your daughter, I remember thinking, you have to scream. Try harder.
"AIDAAAA!" I finally shouted. The alarm of my daughter's name blasting from my own throat jolted me awake.
The room was quiet for a moment while I quickly processed that this had not actually happened.
Auden, 2, spoke up through the dark.
"Aida asleep in her room," he said. "Aida asleep in her own bed."
