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Pregnancy drew me inside myself for some time: the first few days felt like a buzz, felt as if I weren't myself but a copy of myself, and I waited until I could sink back into the fullness of me. It's strange how there's that tangy chop, the before and the after. Now that I've passed day fifty, I'm beginning to feel myself unfurl: after two weeks of distraction, I am now finishing books again; after two weeks of nausea and acidity, I am now making it to the other end of the meal. Best of all, babies aren't prancing across the screen of my eyelids; I now yearn for other things--travel, mostly. Overdramatic travel, the sort that involves crossing oceans. Perhaps it's the threat of being tied to one place in a whole new way.

Pregnancy has left my brain jittering (though, I must point out, my husband would say I'm only using that as "an excuse," and it's true--I've never been a feet-on-the-ground sort of girl): It's defense week on campus, and I'm finally coming out of my cave of comforters to attend my dear friend Meryl's. Friday is a wedding of another MFAer, and this weekend, I think we may finally put those plants into the ground. I'm loving the rain and wishing for a true storm, with thunder and lightning. I've been staring down Daniel Deronda and think I will finally finish it this weekend too. It's been glaring back. I'm looking forward to two camping trips: Memorial Day weekend with my husband and two dogs, and the first weekend of June, we do our 4th annual camping adventure, this year into Wisconsin, with our friends Lane and Angie and Chad. Doula training starts soon. I'm grateful for all these things.