Dear March, Come In!

Every year starts the same for me. First, I spend January in the fetal position under a blanket, crying about the lack of sunlight and the weight I gained over the holidays and the unruly children bouncing off the walls of our house because no one wants to play outside. Then I crawl into February wondering if my insurance covers Prozac before remembering that my brain's chemical makeup is actually pretty good, and I should probably just snap out of it. And soon enough, I fit into my pre-holiday pants again and nature provides us with at least one afternoon of early spring and gradually we quit getting on each other's nerves 24 hours a day.

And then there's March. The month of expectation! It starts out with a smile, as Chip and I celebrate our "I like you more than just a friend" anniversary on the very first day. Then it's followed by spring break and Chloe's birthday and March Madness and weekends at the park. I know the weather will gradually improve, and before this month is over, it will be spring.  And that's all I really expect from March- the arrival of spring. Which is a lot of pressure to put on you, March, but it's nothing you can't handle.

Dear March, come in!
How glad I am!
I looked for you before.
Put down your hat-
You must have walked-
How out of breath you are!
Dear March, how are you?
And the rest?
Did you leave Nature well?
Oh, March, come right upstairs with me,
I have so much to tell!

-Emily Dickinson