I knew Halloween would be a solo gig for me, so I made plans to go with friends and have some backup. My son decided to be a “purple minion”, my middle opted for a ballerina, and the baby didn’t have an opinion and Amazon had a pumpkin costume that was affordable and could get to us in time. Done.
I remember pulling into my friend’s driveway and, like clockwork, the adults emerged to help me unload. It was both comforting & heartbreaking how easily my friends (both the husbands and the wives) could see that it took some degree of support to navigate a newborn, a two year old, and a first grader when my own partner seemed blind to it. I took Emily upstairs at one point to feed her and pump, and when I came downstairs the other two were in their costumes, eating pizza, and one of the dads was painting my middle one’s face. Since my son needed a purple face to fully embrace his minion persona, clearly my middle needed some face flair.
We gathered up our crew and headed out. Emily seemed a little fussy, but I thought she would calm down once we were moving. She was always the most easy-going, easily soothed baby. The further we walked, the fussier she got. I tried wearing her in my sling wrap (which she always loved), her stroller, just carrying her - nothing worked. She was inconsolable. I had never seen her like this, and after all of the unexpected medical difficulties around her birth, I had yet to feel comfortable about her day to day well-being. I worried constantly about her weight, her cleft repair down the road…any familiarity I thought I might have with navigating a third baby was replaced with second guesses and self-doubt. We quickly decided that my son would stay back with our friends to trick or treat and would get a ride home. My face-painting friend drove me back with the baby in his golf cart, I loaded up a squalling newborn, and drove back around to the trick or treating crew. Thankfully my tiny ballerina thought her single Dum-Dum was sufficient and willingly loaded up.
We got home, and I realized I had taken a couple pictures of the baby but that was it. Snapped a quick pic of my middle and unloaded us into the house. Emily eventually settled - I don’t know if it was severe gas or if it was just too much activity, but I was so relieved to see her back to herself. My son was dropped off a little while later, thrilled with his bag of loot. While trying to settle the older two and get them to bed, he texted to ask for pictures of the kids in their costumes. I sent what I had and a few that my friends had thankfully snapped. His response?
“You didn’t get one of them all together?”
Months later, I would discover from their shared calendar app that he didn’t take his own children trick or treating because apparently someone else's child was a higher priority.
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