I never thought I’d relate with bugs a whole lot…until I had little boys.
Well, maybe lady bugs.
I don’t know if it’s me having some sort of insect empathy, remorse from my boys over loving a few (Brian has assured me that certain species of bugs were created by God for little boys), or if I’ve just become too comfortable with them. I don’t know what my deal is, but I’ll say it. I’ve really been relating to them lately.
(Now you can place the boy-mom crown on my head.)
A few days after the bug guy sprays our yard, Gus and Roscoe can often be found outside singing “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” to the “sleeping” bugs that are lying on their backs, feet slowwwwly pedaling in the air.
This is exactly what I do when I come home from work now. Who knew.
I’m large, decrepit, slow, just lying on my back with my legs propped up on something to reverse swelling. My feet wave in the air every time Brian looks at me to make him want to rub them.
It doesn’t work.
I have to beg, verbally, not with my eyes, because I guess dying bug eyes are not like puppy eyes.
This crossed my mind again tonight, as I laid in Roscoe’s room on the floor. He was uncharacteristically upset, and seemed scared, so I laid down on his floor for a while as he fell asleep.
Like, 4 different times. In the room, sneaking out of the room, back in the room, back out.
Finally, as MY bedtime was approaching, I tried to get up and leave…except I’m starting to struggle on the spry exiting, and Roscoe was stirring. I initially tried to roll to the door so he wouldn’t hear me, but my 7 month tummy I briefly forgot about prevented that. Instead, I army crawled, and being said seven months pregnant probably looked more like a slug than an army crawl.
He still woke up.
There’s really no point to this post except that I think I’ve been fully immersed in little boy life that now I’m finding bugs to be quite relatable. In fact, I didn’t even flinch when Brian met me in our bed and warned me that I might find some rollie pollies in it from earlier.
I’m understanding now why a past cleaning lady was charging me more than she charged our friends.