Why Trick or Treating with an 18 month old is like taking your drunk friend home

Tonight I had the pleasure of taking my 18 month old ladybug for her first real trick or treat night. I had to laugh because it really reminded me of some nights in college (and maybe even post college) where an unfortunate friend would have to be taken home in that type of drunkeness that entails a few different phases. I'm not saying that I myself have not had some nights where I midjudged my tolerance, but that is not for blogging since the internet is a permanent record and my kids could at some point access this. (Hey year 2024 Tatum-don't ask). So for the purpose of this analogy, assume this is a generic case study based on no way on a specific event.

Maya began trick or treating at about 6:45, which is really about bedtime after a hard partying day of preschool Halloween activities. As we landed at the first home Maya decided to walk right into the house, arms in the air, grabbing fistfulls of candy on her way into the foyer. She was much like Stiffler walking into a party grabbing a keg cup and exclaiming "what's up f*ckers!" She had pre-funked with a 3 Muskateers and M&M's so this behavior was understandable.

As we continued down the street she INSISTED on walking by herself. If I tried to hold her hand she swatted it away or pulled away and yelled "no!". So, I had to herd her down the path to prevent her from swerving into the road. You know how drunk people won't listen to you, so you make them think that going home was THEIR idea rather than arguing? I applied that philosophy with my non-verbal directing of the baby down the street as she stumbled and fumbled down the dimly lit sidewalk.

Every so often a lip of the sidewalk or a stray piece of grass would jump in front of her foot and in her big plush costume she'd face plant, candy bucket splaying everywhere. For anyone who has visited or attended a college prone to sub-freezing temps in the winter, the sidewalks are suspiciously slippery at night while drinking, but easy to navigate on any given sober trip to the library. Same idea.

After about 4 houses Maya started to throw temper tantrums on doorsteps for no reason. She wanted more candy (cuz one full size Snickers will not satisfy her appetite). She wanted to touch the dog, she didn't want to be carried down the stairs. Thus the random tears and crying. Only instead of sputtering "she's such a bitch- I know she wore the same dress as me cuth she hates me" Maya was saying "I want to bury my face in that candy bowl, put me down!!!"

After what equated to one block I let her walk down the street and she wanted to go in every house: lights off, nobody is home, lets go up that walk way! And then there is the craving for bad food that ails every late drunken night. The overserved friend at closing time will slur "Get me some Jack in the Crack! I need me some Mickey-D's! Lets get Dick's!" (sidenote for non-Seattlites: Dick's is a famous hamburger chain. However I've heard that shouted in other states for other reasons as well). Maya was not asking for a Double Double, she was plunging her hand into the candy bucket and attempting to eat whoppers through the wrapper. When confronted by her sad lack of molars to tear the wrapper open, she dissolved into tears.

Next thing you know I'm carrying her football style, one little ladybug rainboot has fallen off, she is whimpering and hitting me. I'm getting questioning looks from non-parents and sympathetic looks from parents. I consent to put her down at the base of our driveway. She crawls, head drooping, up the stairs. She rips a random leaf of a plant and then starts randomly laughing.

I've done the following to many a drunken comrade, but this is the end of the night for baby Maya: I carried her to the car and put her in the back seat where she promptly passed out. Once home I carried her inside, gave her a bottle, washed her makeup off, brushed her teeth. I got her p.j.'s on while she unabashedly flatulated and giggled at every toot. Now she is tucked safe in bed and I just hope she doesn't throw up.

I am just glad that I'm writing about my baby Maya. It wasn't easy but I treasure holding her little hand, knowing she is safe, and laughing as she melts down on a strangers front porch. I just love that girl.

Happy Halloween!