On the eve of Halloween, 2011.

Oct 30

This time last year, I was about 5 weeks pregnant. Few knew. I was sicker than hell, but still passed out candy to the kids on my front porch. Wrapped in a blanket, and munching on reese’s cups, I breathed in the air of my favorite holiday.

When I was really little, back in that very first house, my mom (a Costume Designer by trade) would hand-make the wildest princess dresses of my dreams. The one I remember most warmly was my “Glenda the Good Witch” costume. I must have been only 4? How can a 4 year old remember her pink, tulle Glenda costume? Then again, how can a 4 year old remember watching a single thunderstorm from her front porch, listening to “The Police?” I don’t know. But I do.

This year, I have two baby girls. My husband works late, I have no candy, and for the first time in my entire life I will be spending my holiday alone and without any celebration. It’s unfortunate for many reasons. Mostly, I’m going to miss the photos that were never taken of my 6-month-olds on their first Halloween. I wish I could pretend none if it mattered, or that there will be plenty of other times for costumes and photos and candy. I know that’s what anyone might tell me in an attempt to console.
But I’m not giving this one up, no sugarcoating here. I’m a sad mom.

There’s also some weird intuitive things floating around this brain[shamble]. I can’t quite pin them down, but if history repeats itself as it tends to do so, I have plenty of reason for concern. So, here we are Sunday night, and I’ve lost the energy required to properly prepare for my work week. One day, I’ll blog about my Sunday house/work-week prep. What a juicy read that would be…a complete line by line list and validation of my neurosis. Oh wait…maybe we’re past that point?

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