A spooky realization

There are lots of reasons people have babies: Personal fulfillment, leaving a legacy, blessing planet Earth with the glorious byproduct of their unfathomably good genes …
Sure, I mulled over a few of these sentimental baby-making mantras when we decided to start a family. And although my hubby does have a mane of hair that’s worthy of bestowing upon future generations, I’d be lying if I said all of my reasons were that philosophical. I’d say a good 15 percent of me just needed to fulfill an innate, deep-rooted desire to make and acquire cute baby stuff—with the crème de la crème of cuteness being baby Halloween costumes.
Yeah, it’s vain, but have you ever seen anything as butt-cheek-clenchingly cute as 15-pounds of roly-poly baby stuffed into an aardvark suit?! I mean c’mon! It’s so adorable it hurts!
Last year, my pregnant self spent an embarrassing amount of time clicking around Pinterest and flipping through catalogs, excitedly planning what sort of over-stuffed creature our baby was going to be. I was going to sew a costume from scratch, and it would have ridiculous details, like hand-beaded wings or meticulously stitched leather booties. Needless to say, I’ve been looking forward to this holiday for a while.
Fast-forward to last week’s reality, and instead of pinning the final details on a handcrafted peacock costume, I was stuffing a squealing infant into her car seat for a last-minute trek to TJ Maxx.
As you can see from the picture, our little Bea is a bee. Perhaps I chose this costume as a subconscious nod to my English major roots—I mean, how could I pass up an opportunity to dress my baby as a homonym? Or, more realistically, I just ran out of time. As it turns out, the spookiest part of Bea’s first Halloween is how quickly time has disappeared. (It’s also a little terrifying how quickly my post-partum hair is disappearing, but I digress.)
Where have the past six months gone? Not toward hand-stitching a Halloween costume, clearly. (Or toward finishing Bea’s baby quilt. Or keeping the house dust-free, making hairbows or getting into any sort of dependable workout routine.) But that’s ok.
Her costume may not be as handmade as I wanted it to be, nor is it jealousy-inducing levels of original, but it’s perfect nonetheless. It’s perfect because I didn’t spend a ton of time on it. Instead of fiddling with fabric, I was spending every available moment with my real, live “Bumble Bea.”
I never thought I’d say this, but it turns out that spit-up and diapers can be as emotionally fulfilling as sequins and glue-guns—and they’re not around for nearly as long. I have many years ahead to delve into tricky costumes, but for Bea’s first Halloween, I’m glad I treated myself to enjoying the finer details of babyhood before they’re gone.
Happy Halloween, everybody!