dream baby

I have these dreams, usually in the fractured remnants of sleep and probably triggered by Gabriel's first peeps, in which I'm searching frantically for a crying baby. Looking everywhere: under the bed, in the drawer, outside on the lawn. Finally, finally, I find him and gather him up in my arms for a snuggle, only to hear him crying again in the distance. In my dream, I am distinctly confused: but I've got my baby, why is he still crying. That serves as the last dream-thought and I am then jerked back to reality where G is tootling in his crib down the hall, and not cuddled up next to me. These dreams have only begun recently. In fact, any dreams involving the baby are of very new vintage. It always takes my subconscious a while to catch up to my reality.
Perhaps I'm suffering non-co-sleeper guilt. It's all the rage, you see: the family bed, co-sleeping, a Walton-esque tangle of arms and legs in the cause of family harmony and joy. I was pretty sure I didn't want anything to do with it before G was born. Painted a bedroom purple, bought a crib. Then he arrived and he was so freaking tiny and still part of me that I could hardly put him down, let alone leave the room, and so our experiment in co-sleeping began. It didn't last long. I was so freaked out M would roll over on top of him (heavy sleeper), that I spent my nights with my arms akwardly encircling our little fussy bundle. I would drift off between feedings, only to jerk awake the moment he made any sound or movement. After a week and a half of getting almost no sleep, I started having tension headaches too. I vividly recall one awful night where hypervigilence got the better of me and I couldn't sleep at all. Not a wink. The next day we got a little baby basket at the consignment store and set it up right next to the bed. I slept so much better. Falling asleep on our saggy old mattress felt like snuggling into fancy hotel linens and being wrapped in the softest feather comforter. And that's the story of why our son sleeps happily in his bed down the hall and not with us. Still, when I talk to parents, the cool hippy type parents I always wish I could be, I'm a little envious. Baby bed envy. The evil part of me hopes they're really not sleeping well, either.