Well, Here I Am

I type this at a keyboard in a house on a street (a street... not a boardwalk) in a neighborhood of a city that is connected by road to other cities. I type this having returned, carrying bags containing vegetables and yogurt and cottage cheese and maybe a bag of Jelly Bellies, from a grocery store larger than my house. I type this on unfiltered, non-school internet. I type this, in other words, from Anchorage.

Yes, I'm "waiting." That's what you do when you have a baby in the Bush. At some point, you go into Bethel or Anchorage "to wait." It's just what it sounds like. You take time off of work (over half of my maternity leave will likely be used up before the baby is even born), go somewhere, and do nothing but gaze at your navel and wonder when the baby lurking beneath it will appear.

Five hours, and I'm already kind of homesick. Sure, there are restaurants and movie theaters and stores and Other Assorted Things Not Found in the Bush, but it's not home. I'm lucky enough to have a coworker from whom I can rent a house for the month-plus I'll likely be here. Shaun will join me here when I get closer to my due date.

I'll admit it... I'm kind of homesick. Our house in the village is really nothing special, but it's our house. Home. Home containing a husband and wildly-shedding dog.

But, bare minimum, I'm homesick in a place with fresh vegetables and fruits that I won't have to cut the bad spots off of.