I was dating, though. I had a boyfriend. We lived together, and in the dream, he was asleep in a big bed. Like in a movie, the “camera” zoomed in on his face and it was unmistakable: He had Down syndrome. 

I looked at his face and remembered that a lot of people had warned me that this relationship could never work. I felt anxious, that feeling you get in dreams where you think, “Oh shit, what have I done, walking naked into my high school cafeteria,” or “Jesus Christ, why didn’t I do my Italian homework for an entire college semester?”

And then I woke up. I looked at the clock: 7:15. Not only had Sophie slept in her big girl bed all night, she’d overslept by 15 minutes. In fact, it was so quiet in there, I wondered if she’d escaped in the night. (Not like her — Sophie would come directly to us if she did get out of bed — I think.)

Then I heard her. “Mommy!”

She didn’t sound anxious, just happy. She loves that new bed, even admonished Ray to get that crib out of her room, ASAP. I don’t blame her. She needs to show off her new rug and her “bubble” sheets. Although I had some trepidation, I highly recommend the IKEA child beds. And Dorcas the physical therapist gave it her mark of approval this morning.

Ray, Sophie, Dorcas and I all stood in Sophie’s room, admiring the bed, savoring the fact that Sophie’d stayed put all night.

Ray looked over at Sophie. “Hey, your panties are on backward!” he said. (I’d allowed it; she’s got a hot pink pair with Marie from Aristocats on what’s supposed to be the butt. Could YOU bear to not look at them all day???)

In unison Dorcas and I said, “She likes them that way!”

It was a good night, weird dreams notwithstanding. But I’m also a believer in beginner’s luck, so I know the nightmare may be coming as Sophie has at least seven hours, EVERY NIGHT, of time to wander, escape, make trouble, hurt herself.

And dream.

It’s been a banner day. (Not for the poor Arizona Cardinals.)

Jack is home. He’s got a huge crate and several toys and he’s already peed in the kitchen four times.

The Big Girl Bed is home, too, but not in the Big Girl’s Room, not yet.

I took Sophie to IKEA today, BY MYSELF, and together we selected the bed (children-sized, cute, with sheets with bubbles on them) and although I was ready to pass out after the selection process — which was like a horror movie version of Goldilocks and the Three Bears (this bed is TOO big!) starring Sophie the Ball Buster – that was only the beginning.

When we finally got in the car and pulled out of the jammed parking lot, I felt like I’d walked 13 miles on a warm day, with a big blister. I’d managed to get both boxes of bed materials, the mattress, sheets and the other crap I couldn’t resist (including a magenta rug Sophie insisted on) in the cart, through the check-out aisle and then into the already packed-with-junk car.

If you know me (biggest wimp ever) you know that’s a big deal. And I did it with Sophie along — and she didn’t get lost or fall down the escalator or get her arm caught in the elevator door like the kid of a friend of mine did at IKEA once. (Seriously.)

I knew it couldn’t be perfect. It wasn’t. Ray’s in the middle of assembling the bed as I type this, and he just noticed he’s missing, oh, about a third of the materials. I checked on ikea.com and sure enough, the item I purchased has THREE boxes, not two, despite what the clerk promised.

So back to IKEA tomorrow. And — barring a lot of puppy whining — one last good sleep tonight.