I was away with a number of other families in a nice hotel. We were having a fab time and all was going swimmingly; I looked out into the sea of children and identified Son and Daughter and then panic set in - where were the twins? I looked for the two little boys, tousle-haired; one with dark straight hair, and the other brown curls. And they were nowhere to be seen. Absolutely nowhere. My panic escalated as I scoured the hotel.
Then I found myself outside the hotel in my bikini in a strictly religious Muslim country. I was careering around beside a busy road, barely knowing what I was doing. The fumes were choking me and people were pointing in outrage at my indecent attire. Women pulled at their burqas and men dialled angrily on mobile phones. My panic was increased by the sense of guilt I suddenly felt at having not looked out for these two fragile boys, exacerbated by realisation that in all other areas of our life I was not giving them the opportunities that we had provided for the other, older children. In fact while I could remember Caleb's name, I wasn't even sure that David was the name of the other twin. My mind was unravelling.
I woke up disoriented in bed, turned to Martin who was getting ready for work, and experienced a huge surge of relief.
"I dreamed we lost the twins..." I said.
"What twins?" he answered, "We don't have any twins."
It took me a good few moments to get over the shock and convince myself that he was right.
Not quite sure how to read this: am I so attuned to guilt that I have to conceive of imaginary children to feel guilty about? Am I convincing myself that I was right in my decision not to have more children (as if I ever had a moment's doubt about that...)? Is it something to do with my teaching? I have no idea. All I know is that it has been a long time since I've had such a vivid and terrifying dream, and one which took so long to surface from.
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