Oh sigh. Every one warned me about New England winters. But what they didn’t warn me about was New England springs. News flash: they’re COLD.

Just when I thought we could put away our hats and coats, Mother Nature horse laughed at me, gave me the plague, and sent more winter weather than you can shake a stick at. Three weeks after I raised the white flag above our apartment, I still found myself sick and on the verge of a chest x-ray. I barely crab crawled my way out of the land of pestilence in time for Jane’s birthday.

But in the midst of this frigid weather and chest cold from hell, I’ve found that I like living here. I mean, I was charmed immediately with our apartment view and the romance of living in the childhood city of my dreams.

But after 8 months here I’ve figured out my favorite sections of Macy’s. I can get to Target, and the fresh veggie market, and grocery stores without a map or written instructions. I get hello’s and how-are-you’s from the usual bus drivers. We have all new doctors. I’ve met other mothers at Jane’s school, and know the teachers. I like them so much that sometimes I get there early just to chat. I know the different neighborhoods and sections and how the different subway lines connect with each other.

I was coughing my head off, clad in hat and gloves and a scarf that covered half my face, when I trudged to my pharmacy and picked up some medicine. The pharmacist smiled and said, “How have you been?” I’d only met her once before, but she remembered me.

And suddenly I realized that this is more than just a big exciting new city.

Somehow, in the midst of being sick as a dog, New York became home.