Jodi vs. The Bug

Earlier this week, Kate and I were outside playing. I noticed that she sat down on the sidewalk, and was pulling at her shoe/sock. I figured she must have had something stuck in her shoe, or possibly an ant or rolly-polly on her leg. After a few minutes, when she walked over to me, and continued tugging at her shoe, I decided to take her inside to remove the shoe/sock and any foreign object.

Upon removing both shoes and socks, and finding only small pieces of dirt, I figured Kate must have had a sensitive foot that day. We walked to the bathroom, washed our hands, and set out to have some more fun. On our way to "fun", Kate stopped in the hall, and tugged at one pant leg. Then she tugged near her diaper, and had a rather disturbed look on her face. I said, "Has a silly bug crawled up your pants?" We removed Kate's pants, right there in the hallway, and what should I find, but a very large, ugly looking bug. (But aren't all bugs ugly?) As the calm, and put-together mother that I am, I did what comes naturally: I screamed! Then I quickly hauled that pants outside (still squealing, mind you), and proceeded to wack the pants numerous times with one of my shoes. I carefully unrolled the pants, and much to my dismay the bug was still alive! I wacked a little more, and realized that I was beginning to feel quite nauseous. (You see, even though I hate finding bugs, the thing I hate even more is that "crunch" you hear and feel as they are squashed.)

I couldn't just let this bug go, because I couldn't tell what kind of bug it was. I was sure that by this point the nasty creature was probably pretty mad at me, and should it have the power to bite or sting, I was convinced that it would hunt me down as soon as it tasted freedom. So I did the next logical thing, and retreated into the house to find a jar in which to trap it.

I turned around only to find my sweet daughter standing wide-eyed by the doorway, pantless, and I'm sure wondering why her mother was in such a tizzy. (Once again, being the well-put-together mother that I am, even having witnessed the entire scene, I'm sure there is no danger that Kate heard any word that I'd rather she not use.) I walked quickly to the kitchen, found a jar, and returned to the frontporch to trap my monster.

Once I had him in the jar with the lid tightly sealed, Kate and I were able to examine him. Kate squealed with delight, as she held the jar in her little hands. I'm sure she thought this was the best thing, being able to actually hold an outside bug, inside our kitchen. The knot in my stomach, however, only grew, as I studied his wiggly legs, large black eyes, and fuzzy brown body. Now that he was in the jar, he appeared to be about the size of a quarter, (although while peering in at him while he was inside Kate's little pants he looked more like the size of a large rat). Upon further examination, I decided he was either some sort of bee that I'd never before seen, or else a new kind of bug... perhaps a potato bug, or something. Kate and I did a little online research, but sadly, we were unable to classify our fuzzy, jar bound friend.

If you've stuck with me this long, I'd love to give you a climactic ending, but I've only to say that when Martin got home from work, he verified that it is some sort of bumble bee, and I was much relieved to find not a scratch nor a sting on my little girl when she took her nightly bath.

So here's my food for thought: Kate's fascination with the bug, and my repulsion, makes me curious. Are we born with an innate sense of the creeps that develops with us each time we encounter these creepy crawlies, or is a sense of fear instilled in us over the years, as we watch others' reactions to our insect neighbors? My friend suggested I experiment with this thought, and get a bunch of aquariums for Kate's room, filled with insects for her to study. I think I'll pass.