Then I realized that we have a memory foam bed, the dog wasn't leaning on me, and the motion wasn't right.
Holy smokes, it was an earthquake. I have lived here for nearly six years and this was the first one I've felt.
The baby slept through it. I didn't fall back to sleep until after her five am first breakfast. But then she and I slept until nine.
My husband and I were hiding our heads under the covers whispering and looking at our phones. I installed the Red Cross earthquake app. I read a lot of tweets. I listened to my baby roll over, and eventually to the dog and my husband sleeping. I picked my pajama pants off the end of my bed and put them on.
I took a minute to be grateful that we have anchored the furniture and the TVs, that I have a deep and abiding love of QuakeHold, that the earthquake kit is on the shelf of my nightstand.
Less great: we get groceries on Sunday, so non-bag supplies were low. When push comes to shove, that painting is closer to the crib than I'd like as is that window relative to my bed...
We are fine. We were lucky. It's very unsettling, in so many ways.