Child safety and a mother's paranoia

I dreamt last night that my 4 1/2 year old, plus my mum and dad were eaten by a crocodile. We'd been for a picnic by the river and chose an area covered in long grass. While I was distracted by something up river, the crocodile struck, and all that was left was Holly's white leggings with the frilly bits round the bottom. In the meantime, a friend of mine was bugging me about which handbag she should buy.

I find I dream more nowadays, and I remember the dreams. It's something to do with being on high alert for a night time call out, while still trying to sleep. This dream woke me for sure. I just dreamt my child was dead. We managed to prise open the crocodile's jaws and mum and dad actually stumbled out, but it was all over for Holly. I can still picture the image of those trousers.

So at 2 o'clock in the morning I'm suddenly wide awake, trying to rationalise my dream and resist the urge to go and check on Holly.

There may be some deeper meaning to dreams, but in my experience, they pick up on random thoughts and put them together in a way that seems perfectly logical to the night time mind.

So where did this come from. The long grass can be explained. Our lawn needs mowing. Actually our lawn badly needs mowing. The grass is long enough for the cat to hide in and stalk the local wildlife, but crocodiles? Ticks maybe, but no sign of crocodiles so far.

It must have been a story in a news a few weeks back, of a 5 year old boy being taken by a crocodile, in the Daintree National Park. The Daintree is the other half's favourite part of Australia, and he took me there early on in our relationship. I can appreciate its beauty, charm and appeal, but, and my paranoia comes out here, I couldn't get beyond the crocodiles. Finding a deserted beach with beautiful clear seas, pure white sand and no other human in sight led the other half to suggest a nudie run to the sea, and I'll leave it to you to imagine what else he had on his mind. My mind couldn't get beyond the big sign saying 'Beware of crocodiles'. And in the evening it got worse. Walking along a board walk and then a stony path to dinner, I saw at least three crocodiles (honest). It's amazing how dark it is up there under the stars, in an area still largely free from human disturbance. The squealing instinct I mentioned in Possum Magic came out in style and by the end of the evening I even had the other half paranoid. I must be a city girl...

So there's the crocodile, and by the way, he was big.

Mum and Dad. That's easy. I miss them. They were over from the UK for Christmas and everytime I talk to them, I suggest they move out and join us. Purely selfish of course. I have two sisters back home who would not be impressed, along with the other relations, friends and the Plymouth Bowling Club. Anyway, I have to ask, just incase the thought had crossed their minds...

So now we get to the big one, and it feels weird even writing it. I dreamt my child had died, in a horrible way. I think it came from reading the story of the Central Coast mum whose twin boys drowned in their backyard pool. Personally, I cannot think of anything worse than losing a child, however it happens. Words cannot describe how devasting it would be, and for me my paranoia over their safety has to be balanced carefully.

In a previous life, I was with my then boyfriend at a dinner party and someone suggested we go round the table and think of one word to describe our partners. His word for me was 'careful'. My word for him was 'annoying'. Needless to say, we didn't last.

Anyway, the point is, I am slightly paranoid about safety and becoming a mum took that paranoia to a whole new level of anxiety. Taking Holly out for the first time in the pram, it took me ten minutes to cross a virtually empty road and every time I carried her down the stairs I had visions of dropping her. I have, hopefully, managed to get a balance between paranoia and a sense of humour, so the kids do actually have fun, but it's probably a good job the other half is a lot more laid back and less inclined to stress. (He gets told off if he doesn't cross with the green man...)

So (and I know you're wondering) what about the handbag?? I have a friend who I caught up with at the weekend, who has an obsession with handbags, and also actively dislikes kids, so I could just picture her being oblivious to my distress and the predicament of my child. You might wonder what we have in common, and I think the answer is not much, but when I need a child free couple of hours and a shopping companion, she's a good distraction from the stresses and worries of motherhood.