It's been a wild weekend. On Friday, we had a Halloween costume party. Planning the party kept me busy during the time immediately after BFN #11, and it was a very pleasant distraction. As usual, I made too much food. I made the B@kerella cake pops in ghost shapes, which were a lot of work, everyone loved them. I also made cupcakes, and profiteroles with pumpkin mousse and homemade caramel sauce for dessert. All of the desserts went over well, but unfortunately nothing went as well as one of the appetizers. Since there were kids at the party, I wrapped hot dogs in strips of puff pastry so they looked like mummies. The adults went wild over them. I don't know why I even bothered putting an effort into the rest of the food. Where the hell did I find these friends?
Elizabeth and I both bought vintage 1950s dresses, and dressed up as "housewives having an affair with each other" for the party. We had a costume contest and gave everyone silly prizes from the dollar store. The grand prize winner got a snuggie. Even the dog got into it. Okay, maybe she was dragged into it. I'm not one who normally buys clothes for the dog, but since we were having a party, and it was on sale, I just had to do it.
Our turtle dog waiting for someone to give her a snack. I am officially one step away from becoming a crazy cat lady.
Waiting for party guests to arrive
This was the first year we have lived in a neighborhood with families and children, so it was our first year with trick-or-treaters. We had everything from the slightly bewildered 2 year old mermaid to the 13 year old zombie whose father kept a close, but not too embarrassingly close watch over his son. One little girl spent 5 minutes petting our dog before she remembered that she had come to our apartment for candy. She got two bags.
Maybe it was seeing all of those children that sent me spiraling downward. I want that so much. I want to make halloween costumes for my children and pretend I don't notice that they're sneaking an extra piece of candy before bedtime. But I've had to come to terms with the fact that there is a very good chance that I won't ever have that. I think I hit rock bottom this weekend, wondering why some women get this so easily, and why I failed IVF. Why don't I deserve to be a mother? I spent most of today crying. And then I got even more upset with myself for having such a pity party. How can I bitch and moan about my rotten luck, when it could be much worse. I could live in Kabul or have ebola or have had a miscarriage. I know I have no right to complain, but I'm still sad.