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From November 1 to May 15, I can generally be counted on to moan and groan about my long-lost life in sunny Los Angeles, its perfect weather, my lovely pre-maternity wardrobe, my vast collection of sandals, my long walks beneath palm trees, breakfasts outside in February, flowers that bloom all year. No one wants to hear it. Indeed, no one here in Calgary wants me anywhere in the vicinity for at least 6.5 months of the year. I can appreciate how they feel.

But that was the old me.

The new me has done this lovely thing: after dinner, we took Smoochie sledding in the park across the street. We were the only ones on the hill, on a warm, starry night lit by a haloed moon. Smoochie couldn't believe that we'd turned into fun people all of a sudden and kept rubbing his eyes to make sure it was really happening. The three of us piled onto the sled and went really fast and really far.

Hours later, in his sleep, Smoochie is still laughing.

I believe I have finally come home.