I've said this before: I'm not a huge fan of February. It's too full of painful milestones, even if they do get a little more weathered with each passing year. And the godforsaken snow, which, true to form, fell this morning in a slushy mess that made shoveling feel like throwing boulders.
Happy Freakin' February.
But there's a bright spot: my daughter was born the day after Groundhog Day, on a year in which we had so much snow that there wasn't even anywhere to put it. We were lucky; had she come a day earlier, we might not have made it to the hospital at all, considering the blizzard that engulfed the Northeast. (As it was, she made her way into the world in about three hours. Four years later, she's as impatient as ever.)
The morning of her arrival dawned icy and bright and blue, and, not sure whether or not I was in labor, I went for a walk.
I turned around about halfway down the street.
Somehow, it's fitting that my daughter has fallen in love with the queen of snow and ice herself, a woman who learns how to use her powers, rather than hide them away. I made a card for her, and I can't wait for her to open it tomorrow morning.
Not sure what #MicroblogMondays is? Read the inaugural post which explains the idea and how you can participate too.
Happy 4th birthday, N., my blizzard girl. Here's wishing you a life full of bright spots, the dazzling light that is possible only after a snowstorm.