This morning I woke with an intense craving for Mexican food. As Joel kissed me goodbye at 6:45 a.m., I mentioned this to him. He appeared confused and, in a well-intentioned effort to be helpful, suggested that we have nachos and salsa in the house. Nachos, smachos. I was dying - DYING - for chicken and beef enchiladas in ranchero sauce, runny black beans and rice. I wanted it so badly I could taste it, and yes, this would have made the perfect breakfast.
This is only the latest in a regular string of pregnancy-induced dreams and cravings. In fact, this was both. Before waking, I had been dreaming of a delicious enchilada dinner at some random Mexican restaurant. Pregnant dreams are vivid, powerful, and linger long after you've awakened. Which at times can be awkward because pregnant dreams are also WEIRD.
Case in point, I dozed off again after the Mexican food discussion and promptly dreamed of Anthony Hopkins as a smooth, suave figure in a spy-movie-type plot that I can't quite remember but will probably make me feel uncomfortable any time I watch one of his movies. WHO KNOWS.
And this all interspersed with thrice nightly bathroom trips already. I'm only five and a half weeks in. It's going to be a looooooong (and probably entertaining) nine months.
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