Eighth grade was very traumatizing for me. Not for the typical, angsty teenage reasons, but for one that I’ve been ashamed to talk about, or even think about, until now. I’m still ashamed, but I’m writing this in the hopes that I can help myself get over this completely irrational fear and deal with the fact that I will probably have to revisit this situation when my son is in school.
So, eighth grade. When I think back to that year, I don’t really remember being bullied (but I was) or not having any friends (totally true) or being a crazy mix of teenage hormones (straight up crazy). No, the memory that really comes to mind is that time I had The Lice. I didn’t just have The Lice for a few days, y’all. It was bad. I had The Lice for months. MONTHS!
Let me back up. That year, we took a family vacation to the beach. We had a grand time, but when I got home I brought an itchy scalp back with me. I complained to my mom, but she told me it was all in my head. So it went on…and on…and ON.
Finally, MONTHS later, I’m sitting on the couch after school, scratching my head as usual (I bet you’re scratching your head right now), when I pulled my hand away and there was a BUG. A bug. On my finger. Just hanging out. I freaked, obviously.
Know what my mom did? She sent me to my dad’s. My dad and his girlfriend took care of me, made me feel like I wasn’t a nasty disease, and cured me of The Lice. Thank you, Dad. Seriously.
For years after The Lice, I was always scared of getting my hair cut, for fear of being told there was a bug in my hair. I cannot tell a lie.
Let’s fast forward to this week, shall we? The other day I washed my hair and, instead of drying it like usual, I just tossed it into a bun and went about my day. But that night, the itching began. That was two nights ago. I’ve had trouble sleeping because of it. I’m not one to have dandruff, but I took the hubs’ advice and used his fancy t-gel shampoo. Didn’t help. So I used it again today, just before googling everything I could about the symptoms of The Lice.
Bad idea, y’all. I just knew I had The Lice after that. So I waited for Drew to get home and I asked him to check my head. I then proceeded to relay to him my eighth grade story, which led to many tears and a major freak out. At first I blamed it on pregnancy hormones, but after he checked me and I calmed down, I realized something: THAT is my phobia! I’m deathly, irrationally afraid of The Lice. It’s called pediculophobia, if you must know. And I have it. Bad.
So the good news is, it doesn’t look like I have The Lice at the moment. The bad news is that Westley is sure to bring it home one day, and I’m going to have to be brave and NOT make my son feel dirty or that I’m scared of him. Early preparation is key, guys. And I’m getting a head start, seeing that he’s still in the womb and all.
Share on Facebook