I Had a Dream About a Venus Flytrap… Then Found a Living Dragonfly in My Baby’s Diaper.

Venus Flytrap Dreams, Dragonfly Omens, and the Holy Absurdity of Parenting While Molting

Hey. Loui here.

Yesterday morning, I woke up from a dream about a Venus flytrap.

A plant that just sits there looking cute until something dumb enough lands inside and it goes snap. End of story. No regrets.

Groundbreaking symbolism, right? My subconscious must’ve stayed up all night crafting that masterpiece. Like,

“You’re a little pretty trap with teeth now. Congratulations.”
Boom. It’s a flower with rage issues. Just like me.

Let’s play.

Flytraps show up when you’re learning to say no to the things that waste you.

When you're tired of letting every lonely mosquito mistake you for a buffet. When you’ve had ENOUGH of being everyone’s emotional snack.

Message received:
I’m a flower with rules.
And if you don’t feed me something real?
CHOMP. Closed.

Then the morning happened.

I go to change Truman’s diaper. Like I do. It’s a ritual at this point. Wipe, wrap, hug. But this time?

This time, there was a huge live dragonfly inside his diaper.

I repeat: A LIVE. DRAGONFLY. INSIDE. HIS DIAPER.

You can’t make this up. I wouldn’t dare.

And the thing is—my cat Aimee has been bringing me spirit animal presents all week. First a mouse. Then a bird. And now, the final boss of molting metaphors: the dragonfly.

I didn’t see her drop it off. I didn’t wake up to find it on the bed like the others. No.

This one hid. Crawled. Climbed into the only place I couldn’t miss it.

My son’s literal body.

Let’s talk symbolism. Buckle up.

Dragonflies are the holy messengers of transformation. They live underwater for YEARS. Just...murking around in the muck. Molting. Over and over.

Until one day they rise. Crack open their own backs. And pull themselves into flight.

They represent clarity. Vision. Evolution. MOLT MODE: ACTIVATED.

They mean: “Hey. You’ve lived in the swamp long enough. Time to stretch your wings. Even if they're still wet.”

And where did this sacred sky-goblin decide to nap?

A diaper. With blue hearts on it.

Like the Universe was like:

“You want a sign that your generational trauma work is succeeding? Here you go. He’s wearing it. And it glows.”

Look.

This wasn’t just a cute bug in a weird spot. This was the sacred absurdity of being a parent, a priestess, and a portal at the same time.

It was proof that my magic isn’t just in my rituals and oracle decks. It’s in my parenting. My caregiving. My exhaustion.

The flytrap dream? That was my inner boundary system waking up.

The dragonfly diaper surprise? That was my lineage waking up.

You are allowed to evolve through tenderness now. You are allowed to rise without rage. You are allowed to fly even when covered in pee and soggy Cheerios.

This wasn’t just for me.

It was for Truman.

For the next layer of life coming through my bloodline. For the part of me that still thinks miracles have to be tidy to count.

They don’t.

Sometimes the Divine says: “Here’s your sacred symbol.” And wraps it in Velcro.

I’m not the girl who needs to burn everything down anymore.

I’m the mother molting. The trap learning to fly.

And my cat?

She’s just out here fulfilling the cosmic Animal Crossing quest of a lifetime.

This is not a phase.

This is molting in real time.

And yeah. It’s sticky and weird and maybe not Instagramable.

But it’s holy.

Because magic doesn’t wait for you to get cleaned up. It shows up in your kid’s diaper with wings.

So I’ll say it again, for myself and for whoever needs it:

Your transformation is real. Your softness is sacred. And your shit? Even your shit is holy.

Popcorn’s by the altar.

-Loui