Last night I had another nightmare. It’s always the same basic dream, only the details change. It’s the Mom Dream.

When my daughter was born I had it nearly every night for at least a year, maybe two. These days I’m down to a few nights a month. Invariably, in this dream, something dreadful happens to my daughter–and invariably it’s my fault. Usually I lose her in a crowd. Last night I, in a fit of dream logic, was allowing her to play across a busy street from me amidst a ton of pedestrians. I wasn’t watching her, my mind was on a friend (rest assured I only behave this way in my dreams). When I realized I couldn’t see or hear her anymore, I crossed the street to find her. And couldn’t. I woke up in a panic, realized it was just another dream, and tried to get back to sleep. I had a continuation of the same damn dream and decided that 4 am was a good time to get out of bed after all.

This morning we went to the park to play. We were kicking a ball around. I was several feet from her because we were kicking the ball pretty hard. She missed it and ran after it. It rolled towards the open park gate. I started to jog after her and yelled at her to stop. I wasn’t really worried–my girl knows not to leave the park no matter what.

She didn’t stop.

The gate opens onto a corner where two streets intersect. I shifted from a jog to a full tilt run and began screaming at her to STOP!

Eyes on her beloved pink flower ball, she kept on going. The ball was rolling right into the intersection and so was my four year old. I was too far behind and too slow to catch her. Thank goodness she caught the ball; it’s the only reason she stopped. She was perhaps a foot and a half from the curb when I caught up to her.

I’m still shaking. And I’m really not looking forward to telling her dad.