While pregnancy gradually ruled out strenuous physical activity for Delores, we found ourselves immersed in 3000 pages of J. K. Rowling's fantastic Harry Potter series. I hadn't intended to read any of them at all; but after perusing a handful of rich pages, I couldn't help myself anymore.
I followed Harry during his many late-night excursions; sometimes long after the sun went down on the muggle world I hold so dear. I couldn't put the books down.
At long last, the final, thrilling, scene drew to a close and I struggled to catch my breath as though I had finished a race. Neville won my respect, Malfoy my pity, and I was duly surprised by wonderful twists and turns. Monday night was the first full night's-worth of rest I have had since I first entered Hogwarts with Harry.
I chuckled to myself. I recognized a feeling of denial. Is it really over? It felt like the same denial I felt when I finished my degree. A month of immersive pleasure-reading felt like a lifetime, and it feels somewhat peculiar to peer out at my unmagical world and resume muggle life again.
sigh
At least, I say to myself, my baby girl may want to hear daddy read to her. I can't wait to see those eyes of wonder.
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