When you’re pregnant you have twice as much blood and water, a holy mixture, swishing around your body. And now I have mosquito bites all over my arms and shoulders to prove it.

So when I lay in bed I imagine that my whole pregnant body looks infrared to mosquitoes, or that I’m ecto-green under the sheets. And for the last few mornings I’ve woken up covered in fresh bites after some lucky mosquito has had a very large meal.

I was up and down all night last night, and just before dawn I imagined charting out each bite. I started associating them one by one with particularly consuming or important parts of recent life, color-coding the bites into general categories like work, pregnancy, God, family.

I was about to get up and sketch the whole thing when I heard a buzz in my ear. Then I sort of lost it, woke up D and croaked, “A mosquito is eating me alive. DO SOMETHING!” I can’t see without my contacts, so he turned on the light and I burrowed into the sheets. He found the mosquito on the wall–this little thing gorged with my blood that had done so much damage–smashed it dead.

And then I was asleep, like that.