November

Yesterday was one of those rainy days, and looking out the floor-to-ceiling window I sit next to at work I could see an enormous curtain of mist. It looked almost like snow, although I knew it was too warm for that. Low 40s, Fahrenheit. Not just yet, winter.

For as long as I can remember, there have two months in each year that I hate: February and November. February is gray and slushy, with no immediate hope for spring and no leftover Christmas glow. November is also gray, and leafless and sluggish and not quite cold enough for beautiful, cleansing snow. Blecch. It doesn't help that November comes right after October, my favorite month. The whole month of October seems to be this big, flaming red and orange reminder to enjoy each moment. And November? It always says to me "hope you enjoyed those moments. They're past now."

This year is different, though. This year I'm enjoying November. Pleasantly surprising. I think it's partly due to the fact that I'm STILL excited about not being hot anymore (stop complaining about summer, Allison!), and partly because my current situation has completely upended the way I look at the cycle of the seasons. The end of fall, far from representing endings and darkness, means anticipation now. When winter - the great void - officially starts, I'll be mere days away from new life! A new beginning! Who needs daffodils and sunlight? Give me a snowy day. Howling wind. Wrap me in a blanket and hole me up in my apartment - I don't plan on going outside for longer than 30 minutes at a time.

Honestly, I could probably be spending this month in the flames of Hell and still feel good about it. Just two more months to wait! I'm so excited to see what (and who) he looks like. I can't wait to hear the sounds he makes while he sleeps. I look forward to picking him up while he cries and putting an end to the tears because my presence comforts him.