A Mother's Love
In the past few weeks time, mosquitoes have invaded our home. For some reason they favor Evan's quarters and Evan's flesh. We've all gotten a few bites here and there but not like him. He looks like he has the chicken pox... 16 on his face alone I've counted. The attacks are almost entirely in the night hours. He sleeps on his tummy with his arms tucked under him- always has- so his elbows, where they stick out between the covers and his pajama shirt, also have multiple bites to match his face. Easter morning he went to church dazed and confused on Benadryl because his left ear was swollen up like the Elephant Man's. He's gone to bed the last two nights lathered up in OFF. It's a new scent, though, so at least he smells like chemical flowers instead of just plain chemicals.
Why settle for this? Because it's apartment living. The golf course next to us is switching ownership and is not at all maintained right now, so we figure these pests are breeding by the thousands over on the 18th hole just below our back porch (thank the Lord it's screened.) We've called- (we'll call her Tiffany- the Barbie doll at the complex office,) but Tiffany has never once carried out a maintenance request of mine. In fact whenever I talk to her about anything she always seems confused, cocking her head at me like a puppy dog, and not because she's really a ditz but because she doesn't like me and goes out of her way to make me feel like I speak an alien language. We used to deal with Gwen, but wouldn't it figure that Gwen left this job just in time for our crisis. So Tiffany told me she'd get on it in a few days- hopefully by the end of the week. Then Shaun called. The experts came the next morning, and all Shaun had to do was ask Tiffany nicely to please get someone out that day.
Clearly, Tiffany hates women.
And children. But that's another story.
So this morning I found a few dead mosquitoes on Madalyn's window sill (which is probably from the stench of the sour milk in the carpet under her crib because the experts still haven't actually sprayed but only assessed the "situation") and then I noticed a live one on the window pane. And this is how fed-up I am with these things feasting on the tender flesh of my children- I killed it... WITH MY BARE HAND. Leaving guts and blood on the glass and scrunched up legs and crushed carcas on my palm. And what's more... it didn't phase me- ME! The bugaphobic. (Which why should it bother me when it was probably my very own blood in that thing's swollen belly that was now splattered on my skin.)
So- you'd be so proud- I just went to the kids' bathroom and washed that disease-carrying invader right off my hand and down the drain with a bar of rubber duck soap. I've learned not to mess around with trying to find something to kill them with- they're too fast for that. They're too hard to spot. And so from now on, it's all-out, unarmored war. The blood is on my hands!
