Is it just me, or do orange juice and milk containers in grocery stores speak to other people?  With my first pregnancy, I remember the day I noticed that the expiration dates on orange juice cartons were after my due date.  To me, those cartons were saying, “It’s getting close.  Life as you know it is almost over.  Hope you’ve been doing your Kegels.”  I got even more freaked out the following week when I realized the milk on the shelves would outlive my placenta.   “For the love of God, woman, pack your hospital bags,” those cartons implored.

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We don’t get a lot of snow here, so the last time P saw any was over a year ago in Boston.  She hated it.  In fact, she refused to let any part of her body, including her feet, make contact with it and she kept pleading with me to “bring back the grass.”  At some point in the last year, likely thanks to all her TV friends and their modeling of snow love, P decided to give the white stuff a second chance.

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