You Mean I Have to?

I had to pull a deer tick off of Saoirse today.  Yep, it was a deer tick.  Yeah, that’s right–the kind that transmit Lyme disease.   I may look calm on the outside, but my insides are like a hot mess of freak-out, scrambled, served up with a side of worry sauce.

We’d just walked in the door.  The girls had played outside for a little while before lunch on SK’s preschool playground, which is where she played during school today, as well.  It’s a lovely setting, this playground, situated above a creek, on land filled with trees.  It’s one of the reasons we wanted her to go to school there.  It’s  just so darned pretty.

Ha.  Silly mama.  Nature’s creepy.

Thank goodness Saoirse wanted to wear her hair in a ponytail today.  The creature was stuck right at the edge of her hairline, in front of her ear, at the very edge of her face.  And I’ll admit–the instant I saw it, I looked around the kitchen, hoping to find somebody else there.  And I’ll also admit that I wondered–just for a second, a tiny moment, I swear–that I wondered if I could call somebody else to get the thing out for me, so I wouldn’t have to.

And then I realized that I was the only mom in the room, that I was the grown-up, and that there was no way out of it.  It was my job now to be the bug-taker-outer.  I had to perform the procedure.  Inside of my brain, I was running around the kitchen in circles, hyperventilating, hands clapped on my face ala Macaulay Culkin in Home Alone.  On the outside, I just said, “Um, okay.  Let me get the bug off of you, Saoirse.”

So I attacked the thing with my best (i.e., the only ones I could find in a jiffy) tweezers.  I kept my voice calm, told SK that I just had to get the bug off of her face, and then, with a tug and an “Ouch!” from my brave little girl, it was over.

And by over, I mean, I put the nasty thing into a plastic bag, washed off the spot where it’d been living on my innocent daughter, gave her a kiss, then immediately got on the computer to scour Internet Land for information on Lyme disease.  Apparently, according to the health website of Minnesota (??) a tick needs to be head-deep in a kid’s face for 24-48 hours before it transmits the scary germs.  Which, of course–because, as I may have mentioned once or twice on here, I’m a mom–only makes me feel marginally better.

I’ll keep you posted.  We’ll know for sure within a day or too if she’s in the clear, I think.  Hopefully by then I’ll have stopped the random shaking and squeals of “wwhooo-eeeeekk!” that keep erupting from my mouth.

Now, off to buy a HazMat suit for her to wear to school next week.  What?  Too much?  Fine, then.  Next time, you get to pluck the thing out of her skin.  No, seriously.   I’ll get the tweezers ready for you.

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