Jekyll and Hyde
This year for Halloween, I fell into my annual routine of trying to find last-minute costumes for my children and a half-baked one for myself — as I vowed to start looking earlier for one next year. The kids’ cute and adorable suits are always easier to find then mine. The pickings are slim for women who don’t want to wear costumes that could double for an outfit in an X-rated adult film. I mean, the sexy nurse, slutty cheerleader, and ultra-hot super hero just don’t work at my daughters’ harvest festival or the pumpkin-patch parties. For a moment I thought maybe I should just settle and go out as the alter ego I have taken on as a mother: Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Well, that’s who I have become when it comes to my youngest daughter climbing into my bed in the middle of the night.
At the darkest hour, my bedroom door creeps open. My cute and adorable 3-year-old nestles between my husband and I. At first, feeling her little fleshy body and smelling her cocoa butter-scented skin is so sweet. I welcome it. I cuddle with her for a moment, kissing her cheek until I fall back into my slumber.
But then, as the hours pass and her foot becomes lodged into the side of my neck or stuck in the center of my back, I think, “Why is this big monster in my bed?” At times I have tried arranging her nimble body to lay straight so I don’t have to get out of bed to put her in her own. But after the second or third slap to the face, I’m enraged at myself. I march her back to room and tell her she can’t get into my bed and that she has her own. I don’t know if I am more mad at myself because I am letting this happen or the fact that my husband sleeps peacefully through the entire ordeal.
I know consistency is the key and I have to let go of trying to hold on to my little baby girl, even for the momentary late-night cuddle.
As for the Halloween costumes, I decided to ditch Jekyll and Hyde and instead the girls and I opted to tap into our animal spirits.
Hope you have a happy Halloween. Enjoy!