When I woke up, I knew it was just a dream. Still, it took every ounce of restraint not to panic and become as hysterical as I'd been in my nightmare. I put my hand to my belly and felt the lump that is my daughter. I pushed on it, then again on the other side, trying to wake her up, urging her with every ounce of my being to move, just a little kick, sweetheart. She complied nearly immediately, and relief flooded through me. I lay there for a moment, trying to slow my racing heart, then got up for another trip to the restroom. When I made it back to bed, I tried to push the dream out of my mind - "It was just a nightmare, it's not real, she's fine," but I was too shaken to let it go that easily. I reached over and touched Jimi's shoulder, hoping that he'd already be awake. He wasn't. I considered leaving him be, but in the end I couldn't comfort myself. I spoke softly, "I had a really bad dream." He was awake immediately, and rolled over to me, asking if I was okay. I told him that the baby had died in my dream, and he shushed me, told me it was just a dream and it wasn't real and everything is okay. He pulled me to him as closely as my nest of pillows would allow, and kept his arm around me, kissing my head and whispering sweet words to make the tears go away. I was asleep again within minutes, onto another dream that was much less emotional and horrid.