This morning I woke up thinking it felt WAAA-AY too early, disappointed that I could see the sunlight sneaking in from underneath our partly opened window shades.  Our clock was still blinking from the power outage two nights previous, since no one had bothered to reset it (WHAT TIME IS IT?!?...I wondered, hoping desperately that it was still early enough to justify rolling over and going back to sleep) and my bladder was begging me to get my weary bottom out of bed.  The early-bird husband was already awake, and instead of rolling over to tell him my dream (which I am wont to do when it's been a vivid technicolor experience, like it had been this morning) I tried my best to shove it back into the dusty and untended corners of my sleepy brain and hoped it would go away.
Because here it is:  the two main events of my dream (nightmare?) included me, rubbing my PREGNANT belly, and then me, backing up in our new car, with recklessly failing brakes, and smashing into another car in a parking lot at the high school, suddenly adjacent to a pub with jeering witnesses.  I remember trying to nonchalantly explain the pregnant bump away by casually explaining that I was doing the work for my sister, who wanted a baby, but couldn't have one--and then thinking to myself "...then why does she already have six boys and a baby girl? -and- why am I doing this at my age?"  
Also, it's not the first time I've had that back-up smash-up dream. Tonight I'm hoping for my super powers to emerge.  I'd much rather be running tirelessly, jumping and flying with ease, all while never feeling winded or even tired, but instead gratefully happy and sprightly winged...