It was Halloween 2006 or 2007 and I was walking around my neighborhood in the evening soaking up the spook-tacular energy that was in the air. I did this not to creep people out but because I missed the fun and excitement of Halloween as people my own age like to dress up as sexy anythings and have parties where they drink until they puke. Walking amongst Trick-or-Treaters reminded me of when I was in their shoes going from door to door dressed up as a cat, She-Ra or some other external emblem of my internal soul and it filled me with nostalgic glee.
On this particular night, be it in 2006 or 2007, I was walking down my street which happened to be the epicenter of Halloween goodness as most of the houses were decorated with fantastic jack-o-lanterns, cobwebs and fake gravestones. Spoo-ooky music played from cracked open windows and home-owners or renters were dressed up in costumes playing ugly witches, mummies and Frankenstein-ish monsters. I soaked it all up smiling every time “Trick-or-Treat” was screeched.
Then I crossed the road and stopped dead in my tracks. Standing on the corner next to her mother was a child who couldn’t have been more than three years old. She was dressed as a red ladybug with a round body, round head piece and a wobbly antenna on top. My eyes looked down at her beautiful face with a bob of straight black hair and big black pupils and a pang of want hit my uterus. Yes, that was the exact moment when my mid to late 20’s ‘I want to make a baby’ hormones kicked in. I looked into the eyes of a little ladybug, the most adorable child I have ever seen and my ovaries wrenched.
Luckily that feeling didn’t last too long. Now, if a baby and I are ever in the same room I can’t help looking at it, but do I want it? Hells no. There are so many other things I’d like before I have a baby (like a stable job, a stable boyfriend and a stable place to live). However, if I ever see a cute little baby dressed as a ladybug again I might be tempted to snatch it up.