I still have dreams about Sebastian doing things he cannot do. I am going to add that hopeful ‘yet’ to the end of that sentence. Last week I woke to the dream of him sitting up on the floor, on his own, pulling papers out of a small box and crumpling them up and throwing them. Giggling at his mischief. It was beautiful. It was a dream. I’ve dreamt him walking in to greet me in the morning. I’ve dreamt him crawling and pulling to stand. I’ve dreamt his voice and the words he does not say. Each time I wake from these dreams with conflicting feelings. A pang of hope in my heart followed by a bit of sadness of being unsure. It’s exciting to see those things in my dreams, to imagine him doing things that typically developing kids do with ease, without a second thought. These thoughts rarely plague me but sometimes they leak in, like right after one of these dreams. And then I go in to get Sebastian up or he calls out with a big, loud yawn to let me know he’s awake. When he sees me for the first time his face lights up into a huge smile and all those dreams wash away and it’s just me and my beautiful, perfect son.