Last night I had some crazy dreams.

No, no, it wasn’t my usual fare of burning orphans,rabid bears savaging my face off, or decaying skeleton husbands come to poke me with branch arms.

Uh-uh. Nope.

Last night I had some crazy GOOD dreams.

Yeah, that’s right.

I had me some Bow-Chicka-Wow-Wow dreams, and in the steamiest sense possible.

The Bean and I were obviously the main stars… and let me tell you, we were some sexy, sexy lead characters.

The Bean was about 6’3” and had tanned, chiseled abs.

I was about 5’11” and appeared to be composed entirely of toned, tanned legs and perky boobs. My stomach was completely flat, my waist impossibly narrow, my heiny was firm and shapely, and there wasn’t an inch of chub ANYWHERE on my body.

I’m telling you – Angelina Jolie would have looked at me and felt insecure. I was that hot.

To make matters even better – this was a dream. We didn’t get out of breath. We never had an awkward moment. It was just Hollywood-style, embarrassment-free , good steamy loving all night long. In fact, I’m pretty sure that some of the stuff The Bean and I did in this dream wasn’t even anatomically possible.

Who cares? They’re my dreams, and they were MMmm, Mmmm, GrrrrEAT!

The problem was is that I woke up.

To make matters worse, I woke up quite suddenly— suddenly enough that my body was awash in sensation, the heat of the dream spilling over into real life.

It was still dark outside, probably some time before five in the morning.

I lay there for a moment, waiting for things to cool down enough that I could drift back to sleep.

That’s when it occurred to me – why should I bother waiting? Why not just wake up The Bean and convince him to reenact some of my oh-so-luscious dream? There are worse ways to start off a Tuesday morning, after all.

I figured I could start off with one of the moves I’d just dreamed… I would crawl over to him, catlike, stalking across the bed. He’d be asleep, but even he wouldn’t be able to miss the way the moonlight caught my toned body…. The heat and promise evident in my sleek movements would cause him to wake…. I’d lower myself over his prone form, and my hands would slide slowly up his bare back, nails digging in slightly as I turned him over beneath me.

MMMMmmm.

He’d probably make some kind of deep, appreciative noise and pull me down to him. Our lips would meet, and his hands would slide down the curve of my waist, tightening slowly on my…..

MMMMmmm!

With a sleepy, secretive smile, I prepared to roll over.

I say I prepared to roll over, because that’s when it hit me.

Oh.

Yeah.

I’m not Angelina Jolie.

I’m Becky.

And I’m 497 months pregnant.

Frustrated at the sudden reminder of reality, I lay there for a moment, trying to get my bearings. Maybe I should just go to sleep?

Nah.

Still willing to give it a go, I scrabbled at the body pillow beside me, trying to find some kind of purchase to give me enough momentum to heave my vast stomach up over to the other side.

I failed.

I tried again.

I failed again, this time even going so far as to let out a totally unsexy moan in my attempt to change positions.

“HRRRRNNNGGGH!” I grunted.

“Mmmmmmmm.” The Bean made an irritated noise in his sleep.

“HRRRRRNNNGHHH!” I grunted again, flailing on my back like a horse rolling in the dirt.

“Mmmmmmmmmm,” The Bean sounded even more irritable at my noisy intrusion, and flopped over onto his back, mouth agape. He began to snore lightly.

I completed the flip onto my other side, propping myself up on an elbow as I stared moodily down at the slack face of my sleeping husband.

This was not how this was supposed to go.

I considered leaning down to kiss him, then smacked my lips a couple of times. Ew. Morning breath.

The Bean gave a deep, heavy snore.

I sniffed deeply, then wrinkled my nose. EWWW. Morning breath from both of us.

I stared down at him for another timeless moment, wondering if it was even worth it at this point.

The Bean farted.

“GROSS,” I whispered angrily, throwing back the covers to avoid being marinated by fart-scent.

“MMMMMMM!” The Bean made an even angrier sound, reaching down with a sleepy hand to find the covers I’d just thrown off of him. He yanked them up over his shoulders, and flopped over onto his side.

Not to be outdone, I gave an impressively deep burp (thanks, Squidgelet, for the acid reflux) and then lowered myself down carefully onto my own pillows.

Oh well. Maybe, if I was lucky, I could go back to sleep and find my way back into the same dream.