I’ve been sleeping under two blankets for the last week and a half. Pulling out a throw to cuddle under on the couch when I watch TV.

Wearing a sweater and long pants throughout the day. Layering that sweater on top of my two blankets when I go to sleep.

I haven’t put away my flip-flops in favor of socks, but I have considered wearing socks to bed.

What surprises me about this sudden chill that I can’t seem to shake is that I recently returned from three weeks in Illinois, where temperatures were freezing and where a sunny day like the ones that now have me wearing socks to bed (okay, I admit it) would have been cause to bring out the shorts and t-shirts and start shopping for swimsuits.

I don’t remember it being this cold last year. Maybe we’re setting records. Or maybe I’m just forgetting that I pulled out blankets last winter too – sort of like I forget that my adjectives should usually follow my nouns. Or that fresco isn’t the word for freezing.

But I don’t think so.

I think it means that Mexico has gotten in my blood. That the Midwestern part of me has taken a back seat--still sometimes yearning for home grown Big Boy tomatoes, but more often yearning for a ripe mango. 

I’ve noticed the change in other things too.

I no longer look around in confusion when I see a sign telling me not to put my toilet paper in the toilet.

I almost always arrive at the OXXO counter with correct change or a small bill.

I’ve quit looking for Revelon blonde highlighting kits in Walmart.

I don’t head outside with a 20 in my wallet, confident that I’m covered for emergencies.

And when our nanny arrives in the morning, shivering and wearing a fur lined jacket, I get it.

Because I’m shivering too.