We were able to trick-or-treat, which is really the only reason to get out of bed on Halloween, isn’t it? It was touch and go with her exhaustion, malaise and (shocker) crabbiness, but with a diagnosis that fell somewhere between mundane and OMG (and an appointment for more catheters and needles and X-ray machines later this month), we thought she deserved the chance to dress up and get sugar.
And she loved every minute of it, especially the suckers. And I limited myself to just two Reese’s peanut butter cups. Let’s not talk about the eight-pack of Butterfingers that my husband bought me. You don’t need to know about that. And if I don’t tell you, it’s not real, right?
She was a champion trick-or-treater, even if I did have to carry her most of the way. She even said “Thank you” like a big girl, which is more than I can say for most of the ungrateful jackasses that came to our door tonight (especially the group that came AFTER I had turned out the porch light an the scary Halloween lights and put the toddler to sleep, I hope their teeth rot out from the twizzlers).
Another Halloween complaint, and then I’m done for the night – why turn on your porch light if you’re not going to hand out candy? Isn’t that the universal bat signal for trick-or-treaters? At least I thought so…