We have three costumes for Hank, none of which he will wear, because he does not like hats. Or tails. Or sleeves.
It’s perplexing, because he’s never resisted any of these things before. Clearly, he can sense how much Halloween means to me. How I will do anything, short of super-gluing ears to his head, to get him in a costume.
Every time I approach with some bedazzled, be-furred, or suspiciously stiff garment, he thrusts a tiny toddler hand in my face.
“No?” he says. “Bye, Mama! Bye-bye! No? NO? NOOOOOOOOoooooooo? “
And then he shakes his head vigorously and super-glue sprays everywhere. I will never get it out of the carpet.
As for that beguiling, “No?” Don’t let the question mark fool you, he will avenge himself on your offspring if you keep advancing with that cowboy hat. What kind of monster are you? The kind who’s comfortable with toddler vendettas, apparently.
“Kid! Don this elephant costume immediately. Do you hear me? Mommy wants to keep you up well past your bedtime and flood your system with high fructose corn syrup. Hold! Still!“
Eat your heart out, Dr. Spock.