Tuesday, March 8, 2011
The Ice of Late Winter
I'm learning that when you have kids, the general rule is that when you are at your most busy, when the weather is at its most treacherous, your beautiful daughter will wake up in a pool of vomit.
Yesterday was one of those days when I had to make peace with the weather in order to get things done, and after some grumbling I did. When we got up, it was below freezing. The power had flickered on and off during the night. A pine had fallen in the backyard, narrowly missing the boathouse. Everything - roads, trees, the driveway - was covered in a sheet of ice.
It's hard to feel good about ice when you're in your third trimester, but the sun came out in the afternoon, and suddenly I was reminded how beautiful it can be. Luckily the Dogtor came home from work early enough to take photos.
Note to self: You live in an astounding place.
March is cruel because there are light notes of spring in heavier notes of winter. The red-winged blackbirds are back. The sun melts a little of the snow each day. And just when you think you've seen your last day of snow, a storm comes again and seemingly wipes out the thawing progress.
And since I'm sitting in the hospital lab taking my mandatory pregnancy glucose test - and the man next to me just issued a series of growling political threats - and I just drank 10 ounces of sugar water - I'm going to focus on how beautiful the sun is coming through the ice-covered trees, the wild child inside of my belly, and the amazing breakfast feast I'm going to reward myself with in approximately half an hour.
Or I could let one of my favorite line's from Jane Kenyon's poem "The Clothes Pin" do the heavy lifting:
How much better it is
to carry wood to the fire
than to moan about your life.