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.

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In the Ozark Mountains where I grew up, all the animals get excited during springtime. The little calves leap and jump and skip in the fields while their mothers calmly flick their tails and feast on new grass. Birds chirp and serenade in the trees. Butterflies test their wings. The entire animal kingdom breaths a collective sigh of relief, nudges each other and says, “MAN. Winter was tough. Aren’t you glad the weather is nice again? I think I can probably stop taking my seasonal antidepressants now.”

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Last night we went to eat dinner with friends. We took the train, and since it was a Saturday night (oh who am I kidding, since it’s New York), it was super crowded. We went down the stairs toward the street and Jane is a slow climber. She’s also a slow eater, and a slow lipstick-putter-oner, and anything else that requires precision as to make her look good, healthy, or prevent injury. In a word, my baby is cautious with a capital CAUTIOUS.

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