Fiona of The Sea

June 19, 2018

By Sanda Rathamone



"Every single night I endure the flight. Of little wings of white-flamed Butterflies in my brain. These ideas of mine Percolate the mind. Trickle down the spine. Swarm the belly, swelling to a blaze. That's when the pain comes in. Like a second skeleton Trying to fit beneath the skin. I can't fit the feelings in." - Fiona Apple, "Every Single Night"

have had plenty of dreams about spirit babies. (For more about spirit babies: I wrote about them on: Spiritual Reasons for Infertility and Spirit Babies.)

Lately, my blog posts have been about them and these specific and unusual dreams, that I believe are pre-birth communication. It's becoming really fascinating, so fascinating that I went looking for books to further understand, or at the least dive deeper into these dreams and experiences. 

A couple of books I found are: Conscious Dreaming by Robert Moss and Voices from the Womb by Michael Gabriel, M.A. 

I have yet to read these books (I'm currently reading Expecting Adam by Martha Beck, a book that a recent dream from a spirit baby had led me to. Read about more about it on: The Happy Child.)  

However, this blog post isn't about the above said books, but about another baby who had visited me in another dream. Like the dream about the Happy Child, I wasn't sure she was mine, nor did she bring an energy of a sister spirit to Elijah. 

Her name is Fiona and I will tell you later of how I know her name. 

In the dream, I was sitting crossed legged on our bed, with a baby girl cradled in my arms. Her head was positioned to the left side of my body. I didn't yet know her name, but knew that she was a girl by the way her energy had felt. She only had on a diaper, no clothes or a blanket to keep her warm. 

She was small, but bigger than a newborn, maybe a few months old. 

I wasn't sure she was mine because the way she had appeared and felt in the dream was as if I was to care for her; kind of like being "second mother" or a wet nurse. She didn't feel like mine, but I had held and cared for her as if she was. 

Like her, my chest was bare and open and her little soft head began searching. I knew that she was hungry. I felt nervous with her being so close to my breast because I wasn't sure if I was going to "do it right." She was also a baby who I had no idea had belonged to. 

My left breast began to let down some milk. The thing was, it looked freakishly odd. My milk wasn't watery and didn't come out in a fluid motion. Instead, my milk flowed in a similar way to squeezing lotion out of a bottle, with the smallest hole. It was white and thick and would pile up in circles, like how soft-serve ice cream curls when dispensed into a cup. I began to worry some more and was freaked out. 

How could I feed this to a baby? This wasn't right. I questioned myself and wondered if I was doing something wrong or was there something malfunctioning in my breast or nipple? How was I going to feed this gunk to a hungry baby? Was it even safe to eat this thing and was this normal??

The baby began to cry, so I had no choice but to put her to my breast. She sucked a few times and then refused. Again, I had questioned myself of what I was doing wrong or what was wrong with me. Why wasn't my milk normal? I didn't remember ever seeing my milk come out like this. 

My sister-in-law appeared by my side; she came to help. She grabbed the baby - rather harshly - and tossed her onto the bed in front of me (with the baby's head toward the end of the bed and her feet towards my crossed legs). 

Somehow, the baby was dressed in a white sleeping gown and she was kicking her feet and waving her arms around, as if to say she was extremely hungry now. She was making these whining noises. 

My sister-in-law grabbed a cracker and broke them in half. She placed a piece in each of the baby's hand and said that this was how to find out which breast that a baby wanted to feed from. She said, "Babies naturally turn their head to the left or right when they're hungry and the direction they face is the breast I give them." (In real life, I wondered if this is actually true.) 

I trusted her guidance, since she has a child of her own and experienced breastfeeding. 

Together, we watched the baby, like some kind of experiment. 

To my surprise, the baby turned her head to her right (my left), opened her little mouth and tried to feed herself with the cracker. I guess I was trying to feed her with the wrong side. But still, the way my milk had looked was unsettling and I couldn't figure out if it was good or bad? Strange or normal? Okay or not okay?? 

My sister-in-law disappeared and I couldn't ask her about the milk thing. Since I knew which side the baby preferred, I gathered her back into my arms, but before I had the chance to move her to my right side, something about her was captivating. 

I don't know if she had opened her eyes before and if she did, then I hadn't noticed it because of all the concerns and worries. Her eyes were a striking pale green that somewhat sparkled when she looked at me. I thought, she couldn't have been my baby because my eyes are brown. It was impossible for me to have a baby with green eyes, right? 

All I could compare her eyes to was the color of the sea or sea green, kind of like the color of an aquamarine or the water from the Caribbean islands - somewhere tropical and refreshing. I had heard my thoughts, "eyes of the sea or eyes like the sea." 

My dream was fading out and I was starting to wake up. I was scrambling in my mind, wanting to know the baby's name. I had heard repeatedly in my head, "Fiona. Fiona. Fiona." 

I woke up saying her name. 

The moment I woke up, the first thought of the name Fiona reminded of Princess Fiona from Shrek (one of my favorite movies). But, it didn't exactly remind me of her, but of her dress. Princess Fiona wore a green dress, but it wasn't exactly the same pale green color of the baby's eyes. It was rather very off and much deeper in shade, but I guess both are green and that counts, right?

I looked up the name meaning of Fiona and to my disappointment, the name means "white, fair" in Gaelic, Scottish origin. What did "white, fair" had to do with anything in the dream? I couldn't find any correlation.

Dissatisfied, I searched for more answers. I somehow ended up on Wikipedia and found a link to "Tropical Storm Fiona (2016)." Already, the word "tropical" caught my attention; it was the word I had used to and felt that it perfectly described the color of Fiona's eyes. I then thought of "eye" as in the "eye" of a hurricane. Maybe "white, fair" was describing the color of a hurricane from high above.

I did some further reading on Tropical Storm Fiona, I felt like I was onto something. Unfortunately, the wording was gibberish and I couldn't understand. So, the researching ends here... for now.

However, even after this amazing discovery, that perhaps baby Fiona was telling me something about a hurricane or storm coming (knock on wood). Or, maybe she came to me to tell me that the "storm" is over. Maybe I can now relax and enjoy the beautiful, clear and calm waters... 

Although, the breastfeeding part of the dream lives on and had me thinking about the past.

The week before our twenty-week scan with Elijah (before we had found out the sex of our baby), my husband and I went to a WIC appointment. It was the first one he had attended with me (I went to the first two alone). The appointment was an "educational class" about breastfeeding. The program had a goal to encourage mothers to breastfeed for the first month or two, before handing out formula.

I could remember how awkwardly funny it was to watch animations and videos of mothers breastfeeding.

It wasn't awkward or funny because of the topic itself, but because we were watching it together, with someone else, with a stranger. It was not something we typically did with someone we didn't know. Although, it was for our own good to learn about breastfeeding, as it was my own goal to breastfeed and to do so for as long as possible, but again, something I feared.

I was afraid that I would experience complications and struggles, like so many mothers out there who have found it difficult to breastfeed. 

Moreover, I was afraid that I wouldn't supply any milk. I think it was also because I had read and watched too many stories about mothers struggling with breastfeeding that I had instilled more fear into myself. I just wanted to know the "what ifs" and "what might happen." 

Although, I didn't know that I would later become obsessed about breastfeeding that I would watch YouTube videos about latching and feeding positions. I wanted to "get this right."

After Elijah's stillbirth, the thing I feared wouldn't happen, happened as if it was natural. 

A day after I gave birth, my breasts began to swell and ballooned, as if my breasts were being pumped up with air, or worse, gone through a boob job. It began to harden and hurt so bad and the only thing that my doctor (I was still in the hospital at that time) said I could do to lessen the pain was to ice them.

Icing the breast, as well as wrapping them tight, was the solution to "dry up" the breasts of milk. 

I hated the ice pack. It was freezing, uncomfortable, and annoying to put up with.

I remember tip-toeing in front of the bathroom mirror and shocked to see that my breasts had lifted up so high that they looked so fake. I couldn't even touch them because they had hurt so bad, they were tight and stiff, like they were about to burst. 

I wanted to trade the ice pack for a hot shower and even though the doctor said not to get anything warm or hot on them, I did so anyway. I took a hot shower and had the water running on my chest. I had felt so good, but at the same time it hurt. 

I knew that the one thing my body had wanted to do was to feed my baby, my baby who had died at birth. 

It wasn't until a couple of days after I was released from the hospital that milk began leak. It took a couple or few weeks to dry up and for my breasts to deflate.

Occasionally, I get the breastfeeding dream - whether to a baby that was mine or not - it is always about whether I am supplying enough or doing it correctly. I am sure that this has to do with the deep seated fear of being insufficient to provide enough to be a mother and if I could "mother" the right way. 

That is one of the things my husband and I would "argue" about: having enough to care for a baby. There is always this pain present when the reality and the cold hard truth hits me. 

We're not financially ready for a baby. 

I don't know if I could ever accept that fact, or if we could ever and truly be financially prepared, but do know that my breasts are bare, my arms ache, and there is a calling for a baby to feed and hold. 

It is hard enough to accept the fact that I had never had the chance to do one of the things I had hoped to do. I had wanted to feed my baby with all of the love I had inside of me, but from the crook of my arms and the warmth of my breast, instead of a cord that had once connected me to him. 

Little did I know that that cord is still connected and will forever be.

With love,
Recommended Reads: 
Read the full story about Elijah:

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