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I rarely dream, thanks to my insomnia, but last night I had an incredibly vivid dream that felt too intense to dismiss as random.

In the dream, my mom—who’s 60 and post-menopausal—was pregnant and about to go into labor. I felt a deep fear that the birth would kill her in some horrific way, and I had this strange, unsettling thought that the baby might manifest as a grotesque, bloody form. Mostly, though, I was terrified for my mom’s life. I felt torn, with a faint sense of optimism buried beneath the fear, but I couldn’t shake how unprepared I was for the idea of losing her.

Then, the dream shifted. Suddenly, it wasn’t my mom who was pregnant, but my rabbi—a woman in her 50s, likely peri- or post-menopausal. She was leading a special holiday or lifecycle service, and I noticed some childhood synagogue friends in attendance. One of them, someone I hadn’t seen in two years and found attractive, caught my attention briefly. Despite the celebratory atmosphere, the rabbi announced that the baby was ready and she needed to leave, but she kept delivering speeches—completely in line with her personality. My anxiety grew, fearing she might die in labor as well.

Later, I found myself lying on my bed, feeling strangely relaxed, like something had ended and a new chapter was beginning. I was doodling with a black pencil directly on my walls when I heard my mom’s voice through the closed door. She had survived labor and come home, though I never learned what happened to the baby. Yet, I had this overwhelming sense that she had transformed completely—she wasn’t the same person anymore. It was as though she’d died and been reborn into someone entirely different.

This dream left me shaken, and I’m struggling to understand its meaning. It felt loaded with fear, transformation, and the unfamiliar.

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Oneirly Answered question 7 hours ago