Dream of finding baby in Victorian pram, and finding mother has died in baby car seat. Dream shared, discussed and painted as online event for the Centre for Counselling and Psychotherapy Education, London, 27th June 2020

Dream told at event organised by the Dream Research Institute at the Center for Counselling and Psychotherapy Education, London.
I look out of my bedroom window on a sunny day and see traffic on the road outside. It is a busy road with shops opposite and a post office on the corner, with a red post box. I go outside and cross the road to see a Victorian pram with a lacy white sunroof and a white frilly quilt. It is blocking the pavement, and not parked safely. There is a baby girl in the pram, dressed in a pink dress. She appears well looked after, but I think ‘where is her mother?’ I then see my mother in a baby car seat, in the road, it has a sunroof and my mother is small, the right size for the child seat. She is dressed in her everyday clothes with a blue cloth, like a dusting cloth, over her face. She is not moving and I think she is asleep. I know it is dangerous for her and the car seat to be in the road.
I am then at a man’s house, in his wealthy farmhouse-type kitchen. It has lots of wood, and an oak table, with pots and pans hanging and horseshoes on the wall, and a coffee table. He is my intended partner, my love, but his ex-wife is there as well. I am having a friendly discussion with her, she is lovely, and I get on well with her and feel love for her. I ask my intended partner, ‘are you sure you want to leave her?’, and he nods yes, indicating that there is something wrong with her, or not right between them, and that he is no longer with her.
I then go back to my house. In the road there is the child’s car seat, which has been pushed into the gutter. I can’t see fully inside it because of the sunroof but I can see my mother’s tan coloured skirt and brown top, she still has the blue cloth over her face. I have been waiting all day for her to wake up but now realise that she has died. I then hear the baby crying. I know that my mother is the baby’s mother. I pick up the baby to look after her, all the while having a sinking grief feeling about my mother having died. But the baby is giggling, she is happy to see me, and so I take her into my house. She tries to feed on my right breast but I have no milk. My 12-year-old daughter is there and she asks if the baby is ours. I am smiling and thinking that, as the baby has no mother, we can keep her.