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I have carried a small journal with me since I was a teenager. The notes inside are sometimes practical—grocery lists, to-dos—but many of the pages are filled with abstract thoughts, poetry, song lyrics, or snippets of stories that eventually sputtered out and now hover somewhere in the upper atmosphere of my mind.   That journal represents my ability to leave this plane, so to speak, and travel into the inner world of my imagination. Since giving birth, not only has it cease

No one can prepare you for it, though they will try. My pregnancy was relatively easy—if “easy” is a word that can be used for pregnancy at all. My body, which I had always used for running, cartwheeling, hiking, yoga-ing, skateboarding, and other such physical endeavors, became host to a tiny, opinionated girl sometime in early May of 2024. I wanted to take pineapple with me everywhere I went. I made snack boxes filled with cheese cubes, nuts, and fruit and carried them to w