These dreams

Last night, after we watched Idol (if Jason Castro doesn't get voted off, btw, there is no justice), I puttered around the kitchen and then went to bed. Suddenly, the night was pierced by a scream. Mine. I was having a nightmare the baby was falling, and I couldn't catch him. M came running up the stairs and tried to convince my half-asleep ass that the baby was fine. I just kept sobbing and telling him the baby was falling.

I have these dreams every night. Either he's falling, or in the sheets, or I can't find him, or someone's stolen him and everyone's blaming me. Or I'll reach out and touch M's head thinking it's Boo. They are really unsettling. I'm told they're a result of my hormones coupled with my motherhood instincts kicking into high gear, and that they should end by six months. I hope they end sooner than that -- I need some damn sleep. So does M.