Last year before Wesley was born, we went to the pumpkin patch as a family. I was feeling 14 months pregnant, swollen, tired, and about 60 pounds heavier than a bull moose. This was actually the day that I had 8 hours of "false labor" contractions that sent me to the hospital after midnight only to be sent back with a percocet and the addition of a L&D nurse to my shit-list: "Sorry hon -- those are definitely registering as very strong contractions, but they're just not doing anything to your cervix. Your baby has a HUGE head though!" (Gee, thanks! Can't wait to push it out! I hope you have a nice night, too!)
ANYWAY. We were at this pumpkin patch, it was cold, slightly soggy, and Aidan kept tripping and falling all over himself... and he's not a fan of getting dirty.
"Oh! OH! I am so dirty!"
I kept picking him up, dusting him off, and following him around while he went from pumpkin to pumpkin. And then, after Mike and I had finally grown weary of the pumpkin patch and had "helped" Aidan make a decision, it happened. Aidan fell in love... with his very own mini pumpkin.
The pumpkin took baths with Aidan. It ate dinner with Aidan. It slept next to Aidan at night... and one night in December when it finally began to get a bit soggy around its edges, it myseriously disappeared. We were all quite torn up about it.
Flash back to today's trip to the grocery store where I grew so desperate for Aidan to behave that I bribed him with another pumpkin. Will we have a repeat of last year's pumpkin love? Only time will tell. But if it makes him behave when we're out running errands, I will buy him a whole pumpkin patch. I'll knit outfits for his pumpkins. I'll sing them songs and kiss them goodnight. Whatever it takes, right? That's the kind of grade A, June Cleaver-esque mom I am.