Before my plane finally landed in Los Angeles, it had been nine months since I saw many of my friends and family; or slept in my own bed; or got to eat ah-maaazing peanut butter; or got to choose from different clothes that weren't from a suitcase; or got to truly communicate my thoughts and feelings without them being relentlessly wrung through different language and cultural filters. (If you're just tuning into my blog, you can read here and here and here to see how this all sort of started.)
I even joked to some friends that I'd actually been pregnant the entire time. (I wasn't.) To me, the nine months whizzed by like a Tokyo bullet train. It wasn't just fast; it blurred. Apparently, some friends and family felt the same way, but I don't think that's a bad thing.