Dear February,
You may have Valentine's Day and an extra slot on the calendar this year, what with the whole keeping-our-seasons-in-alignment and whatnot, but I'm still beyond glad to see you come to an end.
I hate to play favorites, or, in this case, anti-favorites, but you are by far the month I struggle most with. Pregnant or no, I yearly find myself feeling most lethargic, most impatient, and the closest to touching a darkness I very seldom feel.
I miss the sun. I miss the smell of green grass and the vibrancy of the air. I miss being warm and bare toes. I'm tired of sweaters, socks, coats and runny noses and hand sanitizer. I'm tired of being tantalizingly close to spring without actually being able to reach out and touch it. I never lament that you're the shortest month, and I slightly resent this extra day.
So, dear February, don't take it personally. We can't all be winners; someone has to come in last in every race. It is time to fade into obscurity and let the brighter light of March shine. And, as I always am at this time of year, I'm grateful that we won't meet again for another 365 days.
See ya then,
Not your biggest fan
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