This year, F decided he wanted to be a giraffe for Hallowe’en. I’ll admit I was a little disappointed he chose a giraffe because I had totally been excited for him to be the Hulk (kid Hulk smashes like NOBODY’s business). But, I swallowed my pride and returned the Hulk costume and came to accept that F was going to be the cutest giraffe to ever giraffe. And then, I was all shit man, what am I going to wear?
But then I decided that I didn’t need to dress up. F is almost five, after all, and even though we’ve been dressing up together since his first Halloween I figured we’d survive a year of not dressing alike. And then this happened:
Because the reality is that F will be trick-or-treating with friends, not me, sooner than I’m prepared for. He’ll soon be over the idea that his Mum dresses up. It’ll be embarrassing, not awesome. He’s growing up. He’s becoming more boy than baby. And sometimes, I wonder if I’m missing out or if I’m doing it all wrong as I focus on my career instead of focusing on colouring books. It was the elephant in the room until I actually was the elephant in the room, and the look on his sweet face told me that everything was just fine.
And also that I need photo evidence to embarrass the shit out of him in 10 years.