Pressed

I don't often dream anymore, but when I do, my dreams tend to be quite vivid.  On some level I think I am even aware of how vivid my dreams are because on the rare occasions when my dreams are clouded or confusing a small part of my brain stands rationally by and registers the observation that something is amiss.

Last night I went to bed later than usual and immediately (it seemed) began dreaming about being pressed down by something... but it was as though a hand was pressing down through a cloud.  I couldn't see anything, and the rational, observing portion of my brain dutifully noted that this was not typical and dragged me gently to the surface where I opened my eyes.

It seems I had been checking email on my laptop before going to sleep and the swivel arm of the computer stand next to my bed was still over my chest when I fell asleep (you can see the computer stand in this picture).  The gentle pressure of the computer stand through the comforter on my chest had intruded on my dreams... and ultimately my sleep.

I groggily swiveled the arm of the stand off to the side... noted the glowing time on the alarm clock - '02:10' - and went back to sleep.

Round one.

Almost immediately (it seemed) I was back in the fog and something was pressing on me, but this time from the side.  As before, I couldn't make out what it was... but it was cold and wet.  Again the rational observer cleared his throat and mentioned conversationally that this wasn't vivid enough to be a dream so I might want to drift back to the surface to have a look-see.

As I broke the surface of sleep and opened my eyes, I became aware of our dog's cold wet nose pressed insistently against the portion of my chest that was exposed above the fold of the duvet.  The old girl is usually able to wait until we get up to go out in the yard for her 'morning constitutional', but this time she was caught short and she apologetically stared at me from next to my bed waiting for me to get up and let her out.

I dutifully got out of bed and waited patiently at the front door while the dog ever-so-casually selected a likely spot in the garden.

After letting her back in and locking the door, I staggered back down to our bedroom... noticed the glowing number '03:26', groaned inwardly and dove back into sleep's embrace.

Round two.

Within moments (it seemed) a new force began pressing against me... this time from both sides.  The squeezing force was warm but firm... and I couldn't see through the fog to make out what could possibly be exerting pressure from two different sides.

Mr. rational cleared his throat again and offered the helpful suggestion that I might want to come up out of the murky depths for another peek.

As I opened my eyes I became aware of my wife's hip pressed firmly against the small of my back... and my almost-three-year-old son Yonah's warm little body spooned firmly in the hollow between my knees and my chin.  Zahava's nocturnal migrations are not new to me, but Yonah almost never gets out of bed without calling out for permission.  For all I know he may have asked and I may have answered... but I have no recollection of his climbing into my bed.

A quick glance at the clock - 04:47 - and I knew it would be a looooong day.  I didn't have the strength to try to carry Yonah back to bed so I simply adjusted him more comfortably in next to me and went back to sleep.

Round three.

When the alarm finally went off I had a moment of panic as it seemed I couldn't move.  But within moments I realized that my immobilization was due to Zahava still pressing in on the small of my back... Yonah snuggled deeply in from the front... and the dog curled up on the foot of my bed directly behind my knees.

Needless to say, I'm feeling a bit pressed today.