Lice. It's the word that strikes fear in every mother's heart. It's the word we dread.
Please, Lawd, don't let it be lice.
Your girl scratches her head during a soccer match? DON'T LET IT BE LICE!
You feel a little tickle at the back of your head? DON'T LET IT BE LICE!
You hear that someone in a neighboring town has it? DON'T LET IT BE LICE!
I take worrying and obsessing to a new level. I don't just worry that we will be struck down, I am convinced we have it.
Every single time I hear a lice story, I totally freak my freak.
When someone I know gets lice, I want to send them a condolence fruit basket or a sympathy plant. "I am so sorry for what you are going through." (That wouldn't be weird at all!)
If you know someone who is battling lice, be kind. If they actually leave the lockdown of their house for more ammunition, you will see that they haven't slept, they are still in their pajamas and might be muttering, "must boil the sheets, must bleach the walls, must shave their heads, must..." The glazed look of crazy in their eye will fade with time, but the fear will never leave them.
The frightening truth is: no matter who you are, there is nothing you can do if the lice army decides to invade.
We avoided the bullet this time, but my pediatrician's words will forever haunt me. "There are kids who haven't had lice and kids who haven't had lice yet."
I'm In The Powder Room today talking about the lice scare of 2013. Please come hold my hand.