The Addiction

I had that moment that alcoholics, drug addicts or gamblers must experience when self-realization hits them like a bullet train. When they wake up in unfamiliar surroundings, without a penny left to their name, utterly alone in the world. That moment hit me today when I stumbled out of the Starbucks with a bag and a half of Guatemala's best, a cup o' joe AND a soy latte, all for Moi.
In years past, I was proud of the fact that I never drank coffee all through college and med school, and even most of residency, in fact, I hated it, except for the smell. But then in pregnancy, I found I could not survive without the stimulant boost of caffeine holding my eyelids open. It started as an innocent single soy latte once in a while, then once every morning. I could take it or leave it, I told myself. Bob would tease me about being addicted to coffee and I would just laugh him off. Then this weekend, in the rush of getting the kids out the door for ZooBoo -- trick-or-treating at our local Zoo -- I had little time to feed the dependence. The result was a nagging headache all day long that I had to chase with mega doses of ibuprofen.
So today, my subconscious directed me to the closest Starbucks, afraid that I would forget what my body clearly needed. I walked in for my usual tall latte. Then, lured by the politically-correct displays of third-world fair trade certified coffee farms, I grabbed a pound of whole beans "for the cause". Up at the counter, after ordering my latte, the barista offered a free cup of coffee and an extra packet of whole beans as part of a special promotion, "This is your lucky day!" How could I pass that up? So that's how I ended up juggling two cups of coffee, chasing sips of pumpkin spice latte with sips of bold Cafe Estima, with two bags of whole beans tucked under my arms.
I would say that I have a problem. That's Step 1, right?