'I sprint to the kids' room like a gazelle. If gazelles wore big knickers and support vests' Our funny, feisty and frank columnist.
Byline: Sara Cox
My father-in-law, upon hearing about the dream of a friend, declared 'there's nothing more boring than other people's dreams' and he's right. Which is totes awks, as I'm about to talk about mine - because I can't shake off last night's.
Working away, I keep having anxiety dreams about the kids: they are safe, playing at a pal's house, but I can't get to them - there are rickety staircases and twisted pavements blocking my path. Obviously, these anxiety dreams are because I'm separated from my kids and the side order of guilt that accompanies it. I wake feeling jiggered - not refreshed, but drained and browbeaten.
Am I the only one to feel like this? The funk of a bad dream seems to take forever to melt away. Worse is one where I dream my husband's been unfaithful. I wake grumpy, glaring at my husband, who's peacefully snoozing away beside me, blissfully unaware of my fury at his crime. My rational brain knows it's bonkers, but all morning there's a sliver of hurt and humiliation secreted just under the surface.
Dream indicates insecurity, lack of attention and fear of abandonment. Alarmingly, according to one site, in rare cases it points at actual infidelity! Your subconscious has put two-and-two together and come up with four, whereas your daytime brain just ain't doin the math.
Memories of my own nightmares as a child, waking terrified and seeking solace in Mum's bed, mean I'm always first to the sprogs when they wake screaming. I marvel at how I can go from deepest sleep to sprinting gazelle-like (if gazelles wore big knickers and secret-support vests) down the hall to the kids' room. It's one of the greatest honours of parenthood - to gather your baby in your arms in the darkness and chase away the monsters. Seeing as during the day I'm slightly naggy with a pinch of impatience, I blossom in the wee small hours - I'm at my most compassionate as I pull them into bed with me to protect them from their imaginings.
I just need to remember to keep being nice once dawn breaks!
Had a real dog-squeezing moment watching my daughter Lola canter for the first time. It was up there with other firsts: word, tooth, day at school - although none of those require a safety helmet, hence my nerves. Beano was on my lap and as Lola cajoled her little mare Junior into a canter, I stifled a pony-startling whoop and instead I squeezed Beano like a stress ball as a way of channelling my pride.
Interviewed pop's second favourite Cheryl, Ms Baker, recently. But to be fair she's the original Queen of the Cheryls to Mrs Fernandez-Versini's Princess. The Bucks Fizz star was on my 80s show talking touring, love (her hubby Steve was in her backing band donkey's years ago) and real names (Rita! Who knew?). They had no idea the Eurovision skirt-pulling-off moment (left) would be so iconic, with thousands of girls copying that move, a seven-year-old me included. Though it wasn't a long satin number I'd be pulling off, but a tea towel wrapped round my jeans.
It's a great honour of parenthood to gather your baby in your arms and chase away the monsters
With the first Queen Cheryl Of Pop
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|Publication:||Sunday Mirror (London, England)|
|Date:||May 24, 2015|
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