BY GUEST BLOGGER, BRITTANY GUMMERE

I have held my daughter while she was sleeping almost every single day of her life. I hold her with the knowledge that we may not always have her and that she may one day not want to be held. So, I hold her. My daughter lives with Phelan-McDermid Syndrome and a 7q Duplication and is nonverbal.

From the moment I found out that babies dream in-utero, I have dreamed of my daughter’s dreams. Every single day as I held her, I imagined colors and sounds and joy... and couldn't wait until she was older to hear what her dreams are made of.

Imagine the heartache that comes with knowing she may never be able to tell me what she dreams... to hold her every night while her body rests yet her brain is exploding with activity that I will never know... That is a special kind of sorrow.

However, with that sorrow comes comfort - in the form of her soft breaths and faint smiles as she sleeps. The knowledge that her brain is active and engaged and all hers, even while she sleeps. The absolute peace I feel when she burrows her little head into the crook of my neck. To know that my (or husband’s) face is the last thing she sees before closing her eyes, and our heartbeat is the last thing she hears... that is a special kind of comfort.

So, when the nurse for my daughter’s sleep study printed out a sheet of her brain waves during her dream cycle as I held her tightly to me through the night... I knew I had found the tattoo I wanted... No. Needed.

I needed to put a pin in the sorrow of not hearing her dreams. I needed to put a pin in the comfort of her brain, active in my arms. I needed to mark it, to feel it push from my soul onto my skin. And I am so glad I did.

The permanency of a tattoo is not lost on me... There will never be a day where she isn't my girl, and I don't dream of her dreams... and I am so incredibly thankful for that.