Not-So-Sweet Dreams ...

I hate scary movies. I can't even watch the previews for horror flicks without becoming convinced there is a serial killer hiding in my shower at that exact moment. I won't even let Matt watch "Ghost Hunters" while I am in the room.

I certainly don't let my daughter see images of evil clowns, shadowy figures that lurk or large amounts of blood splatter. But I still couldn't protect her from the boogie man last night.

Sweet CeCe wakes up during the night to toss and turn, and occasionally fuss. I thought nothing of it when I heard her rolling around in her crib at 1 a.m. Until the crying began. This was not "I'm cranky" crying. It wasn't even "OUCH MY TEETH HURT!" crying. It was can't-catch-your-breathe, shaking hands, tears streaming, wailing, terrified crying. Something scared my baby, and it broke my heart.

I picked her up and her tiny arms gripped my neck so tight it rivaled a professional wrestler's signature headlock. To feel my baby's body shaking with panic was something I never wanted to experience. I wanted to chase down and drop kick every shadow on the wall that might have scared her into this state.

I turned on a third nightlight and rocked my CeCe Bear far past when the tears stopped. I held her in a constant squeeze, and quietly sang one thousand choruses of "Nothing can hurt yooooooou, my baby giiiiiiiirl."

Ce slipped off to dreamland and woke up no worse for the wear. I, on the other hand, am exhausted and slightly traumatized by my baby's trauma. My movie-induced nightmares were nothing compared to that. 

Here is hoping CeCe can sleep peacefully tonight:

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