While the weather may not totally reflect it, spring has arrived, and with it comes later sunsets, warmer weather, greener scenery and, most importantly, baseball season.

I frequently tell people that the months between the Super Bowl and MLB Opening Day is the hardest part of the year for me. What can I say? I’m very loyal to my Boston teams. But while football holds a place in my heart, I was born and raised on Fenway Franks and ice cream in the little helmet cups which means that the start of a new Red Sox season brings a whole different variety of emotions.

For me, the Red Sox are synonymous with Fenway and Fenway is synonymous with feeling at home. There are few places I feel more comfortable than when I’m watching a game at Fenway. Family trips to see the Sox were a large part of my childhood, which is why Fenway holds so much nostalgia and coziness for me.

Which is why my first away Sox game was so bittersweet.

Game day started the same. It ended the way I hoped. But it was different. I put on the same old Sox hat and Pedroia jersey that I’ve worn a million times (I’m a wear-her-jersey-around-the-house-on-game-day kinda girl) and I set out with the same excitement to see my team as always. I did the same awkward victory dance I do every time they win. But everything between was different. It was weird.

There was no hustle and bustle of Yawkey Way, none of the all too familiar Red Sox playlist, no Sweet Caroline or Dirty Water. It was missing all the key Boston pieces, and it made me the most homesick I’ve been since I moved.

The Sox will be in town several more times this season, and Im excited to see them as many times as possible. But more than anything else, I’m counting the days until my next game at Fenway.