Don’t let the bed bugs bite
Yech. Bugs.
Yesterday started out like any other day. I dropped Kate off at daycare. Her teacher met at the door with a note. She said she wanted to let me know that there had been an outbreak of lice (YIKES!) at the center. They thought that they had it under control but she wanted to tell me about it.
I had one of those feelings.
“How many?” I asked.
“Three.”
“How many in your class?”
“Two of the three.”
Super.
I never had lice as a child, nor do I remember anyone I know having lice. In rural North Carolina, they would line us up in the hallway ever so often and go through our hair with special lice combs, checking… just in case. Fortunately, I never got it, nor did my brothers. That was quite a relief because it always seemed so… dirty. Yeah, I know that anyone can get it, blah, blah, blah. But my perception was that lice was just a shameful thing to contract and my associations with it were not pleasant.
Skip ahead to me standing at the door holding Kate’s hand.
I had visions of her coming home all scratchy. I didn’t even know where to buy lice shampoo. What if she gave it to Amy? Can dogs get lice? It was all too much. I thought about taking her hand and walking out of the center but what would that have accomplished? It would have made me one of those super crazy overprotective moms that people whisper about.
So, deep breath.
“Okay, well, thanks for letting me know.”
And I let her go inside. I didn’t feel good about it. I walked outside, my mind spinning. I was not going to obsess about this.
Later that day, when I picked her up, I watched her pretty closely. No scratching, no itching. Maybe she won’t get it after all.
It’s just so weird trying to protect your kids. I know you can’t protect them from everything. But I feel like I ought to be able to.