I'm back again. I took a detour to the hospital--a terrifying flurry of pre-term labor at twenty-six weeks of pregnancy. A one o' clock in the morning call to Phil from my hospital bed, saying "You have to come back, they're saying I'm dilating, they're giving me meds." A four year old girl carried in to the hospital room fast asleep. A husband holding me, firmly asking to be explained our options. IV's going in and drugs to still my uterus. A baby boy's heartbeat, loud and insistent and gorgeous, broadcast over the room, punctuated by his kicks.

And then winding down, stillness, tentative peace. Wheeled out of the hospital into the fine air. Taken home, surrounded by cushions.

I've been on bed rest for almost five weeks now.

 

I'm learning to be peaceful. I'm remembering to daydream about lovely things--scratchy wool skirts, and the ocean, and peppermint white mochas. I'm lighting candles, and ignoring the clutter, and knitting.

 Pretending to snooze for the camera.