The weatherman called for a storm last night. He wasn’t lying and as I look out the window, all I can see is white powdery snow. It’s everywhere and in fact, there’s still some falling from the skies above. It looks like a picture right out of a book. But looks can be deceiving. Underneath the pretty veneer lies an ugly truth. It’s freaking cold out there.
I hate the cold. I know that word shouldn’t be used lightly and trust me when I say that it’s being used with no lightness at all. Feel free to revoke my Canadian passport if you must but I really and truly hate the cold. I hate getting all bundled up and still freezing my ass off when I go outside. I hate driving on the icy roads. I hate how my leather sofa feels like block of ice when I first sit down. I hate the darkness that descends much sooner than it should.
I was happily content hating winter and saw no reason to change until now. Until my daughter came to delight in the winter wonderland that exists outside the windows of our toasty house. Who squeals with excitement at the sight of a fresh snowfall. Who asks to go outside to build the biggest snowman in the whole wide world. Who wants to see how high up her legs the snow really is. Who wants to go tobogganing like Max and Ruby. Who is clearly much more enamored with winter than I am.
I’m torn between hibernating beside the fireplace like I’ve always done or now, experiencing some of this winter magic with my daughter. I tried taking my daughter to her skating lessons and though it was adorable to watch her crawling around on the ice, I spent a lot of time just trying to stay warm. I was awed by the mom walking around in capri yoga pants sans jacket as I was barely recognizable in full winter gear. She clearly has superior winter genes.
I try taking her outside every once in a while. I do it because she wants to and because she enjoys it and also because that’s what parents do. But God, do I ever have to fake it. My smile is as frozen as I feel inside and my enthusiastic cheers are just a little too forced. If someone were to look closely, they would see that I’m so close to the edge that it’s both scary and sad.
I don’t think I will ever enjoy winter. I’m just not meant for the blistery cold. But I also know that I will keep pretending for the sake of my daughter. I may not be a winter person but be damned if I’m not a good mother.
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