The solitude, the strangeness, the seemingly endless days, I can tolerate. The things that will be the death of me are the diapers. Kingsley wouldn’t hear of bringing disposables with us. Seeing they were a great contribution to the floating garbage islands back home, I understood his resolve. Besides, there wasn’t room in the hold for 9,000 we’d need for Stella’s whole young tinkling life. But now I’ve washed the same dingy dozen cloths hundreds of times. There are water filtration and recycling systems from NASA that port the waste out of the colony. It doesn’t take an astrophysicist to use a washboard every stinking day. It takes a saint.