At least I hope so.
But I've been fooled before.
Like the time last year when I arrived home early one Monday morning from the Big City, in the MIDDLE OF APRIL, to a foot of snow and couldn't even get in my own driveway.
None the less, I don't think I've seen as many robins as I have this year.
But I do remember that time years ago when my kids were little.
I had just spotted a large bird on our deck and very excitedly had screamed, "Oh my God, there's a hawk on the deck!" and brought everyone running.
In responses dripping with disgust, I was informed that what I had mistaken for a hawk was in fact a robin.
I went back to check and sure enough, the 'hawk', turned out to be undoubtedly, the biggest robin I'd ever seen and displayed a hugely pregnant, red breast.
My kids rolled their eyes when I suggested that I should make the poor thing a maternity smock, as she was so obviously bursting with eggs.
Mrs. Robin gave birth shortly thereafter (at least I assume it was her) and every day I watched her stony profile as she sat on the nest that she'd built at the far end of our deck on the curve of the eaves spout beneath our roof.
When Mrs. Robin wasn't keeping her babies warm or cramming goodies down their screaming gullets, she stared moodily out over the landscape plotting, I'm sure, the demise of Mr. Robin who seemed to spend a good deal of his time bob-bob-bobbing along, plucking succulent worms from the earth and enticing other unsuspecting Miss Robins into believing that he had his own worm farm in the next town over.
Maybe someday the fairer sex will learn.
I doubt it.