As far as I’m concerned, March never evolved into Mary’s little lamb, so I can only expect that April will bring on a deluge for those of us who don’t live among palm trees. For moms, this means wrestling one-handed with rain gear, ranging from surprisingly stiff stroller sheaths to unwieldy inverted umbrellas. Fortunately, we are left with a “free” hand to hail cabs to Kidville, disinfect fallen pacifiers, or ward off tears with a seemingly adult-proofed pouch of purée. So you see, spring can’t get here soon enough. I can’t seem to glam up galoshes like my glowing, catalogue-model counterparts, and I certainly can’t weather another storm of sneezing and wheezing at the all-too-convenient hour of three am.
But I try not to fret. Much like the terrible twos (or threes), there is reprieve in our forecast. As mothers, we can find solace in May flowers both literally and figuratively. Even if this season stumped the groundhog, soon enough we’ll be self-tanning, SPF-ing, and slipping into anything and everything sleeveless. (Sadly, this might mean swapping Sprinkles cupcakes for squats). And even if we think we can’t bear one more flung fork of congealed mac-n-cheese, or another episode of the irritatingly chipper Fresh Beat Band, our children are suddenly going to string together their first sentences (more quinoa please!) or hug us “just because.” So next month, take the good with the “eh” and remember that the bloom ultimately outweighs the downpour.