48 hours ago I doused my entire house with all manner of soap, vinegar and lemon until the house was in a state I can only reach when all the men are asleep or absent.
With the weather careening from warm to freezing every few days, critters and creepy crawlies are seeking warmer climates. (Much like me.)
Now, I am a mildly muscled girl with a history of gathering courage and resolve in tough moments. My better and more manly half has this pesky habit of defending freedom and upholding the Constitution on behalf of the nation, which leaves me to be the primary exterminator and mess-cleaner of the house. However, my man has now been home for a few weeks which lulled me into a false sense of security. It seemed like the days of killing bugs, catching bats, and wiping blood had ceased for a moment.
This morning while I cuddled with my tiniest bundle of joy in an attempt to keep warm, I had no idea I was under attack. As I picked up my little one and rolled our of my bed- with FRESHLY WASHED SHEETS- I looked down and saw the first horseman of the zombie apocalypse.
A dead COCKROACH in my bed. It was under my back…in my bed, with my baby. It touched my SKIN.
Join me in a collecting scream, freak-out dance and and desire to bathe.
I have killed MANY roaches in my day. Many bugs, many germs. I’ve cleaned blood, mud, poo and baby gunk all this morning, but for some reason my rational mind was not prepared for this.
Now, I did not lose all decorum. I couldn’t- there was a baby involved! I whisked away the wee one and then returned for Kafka. (I call all cockroaches Kafka. Who is to say that high school literature doesn’t have an impact? Now that’s a Metamorphosis. Every crunch feels like an A+.)
Now then, I’m a mom. I’ve never had much of a potty mouth, but I certainly can’t start cussing up a storm in front of the children. So, how to react as I stripped the bed and carried off the carcass?
I Mom-cussed. I now realized, it was in categories.
Food cuss: “Sweet honey mustard!”
Color cuss: “Mother of pearl!”
1980s cuss: “Grody to the MAX!”
State cuss: “Good night above Texas and Oh mylanta, Georgia!”
I then broke out my flashdance-worthy ‘maniac’ moves as I threw away the cockroach body and tossed the sheets into the washer.
Then I realized that dealing with these kinds of atrocities in life requires a determination of mental attitude. Do I dwell on the disgusting implications? No. Oh, no. That means that they win.
Time to find the good.
1. It was DEAD. One less cockroach in the world.
They might outlast us, but not this one.
2. I am so good at killing bugs that I can do it in my sleep.
3. It was on me, not my baby.
4. I repeat, it was DEAD.
5. At the end of the day I will have freshly washed sheets again.
6. Despite the glory of having a grown man around (not just his mini-clone army), I am once again on guard.
Now if you’ll excuse me, it is time to scrub the whole house again and bleach my bed. I mean, really. Furthermore, there might be a few voicemails of my not-so-brave responses in existence…maybe.
We all have cockroaches in our lives. Sometimes I hit them with hairspray. Sometimes I kill them with high heels. Sometimes I crush them athletically with my sneakers. Other times, I kill them in my sleep. It show you kill them that counts.
For those who are wondering, my gag reflex works. All phrases regarding bed bugs, snug as a bug, etc. are prohibited for a while. Ew. Ew. EW. Good luck. There are always more.