Last week one day, Little Miss inexplicably broke out into hysterics while we were driving down the road on the way home.
This is a girl who I call my “Teflon Baby” because she does something that would cause any other child to melt into a slobbering pile of cry simply bounces up and keeps going. I actually worry that she’s going to seriously injure herself one day and that we’ll have no idea because she doesn’t acknowledge or realize that she’s hurt.
Needless to say, hysterics are pretty foreign to her. I pulled to the side of the road to try to figure out what had hurt her and why she was screaming that way with the tears streaming down her face for no apparent reason. I finally got the word “BUG!” out of her after a minute or so.
Yep, apparently someone (my mom) had managed to convince Little Miss that bugs are very scary, and even though this was just a harmless random flying bug on the outside of my car as we were driving down the road, histrionics worthy of any Hollywood starlet are the logical result.
This is not going to last long. I can’t have the wee ones petrified of perfectly harmless bugs. It’s bad enough that my husband squeals like a little girl when he sees a bee, but I can ensure my wee ones act normally around insects.
I have spent the last several days explaining to both the wee ones that bugs are not scary, that they generally just want to come fly or crawl near you to see what’s going on, and that they won’t hurt you if you leave them alone.
(As a side note, my détente with bugs does not extend to the interior of my home, nor to my the enclosed spaces of my car to which the lovely spider that first appeared on my leg tonight and later (and finally) on the ceiling can attest.)
Apparently, it’s starting to sink in.
Little Miss: Mommy, there’s a bug on the window.
Me: Is there now?
Little Miss: It’s a good bug, a friendly bug. Hello, cute bug!
Me: Is he coming to say hello?
Little Miss: Yes, he’s a nice bug who helps the flowers grow big and beautiful.
Me: You’re right. Bugs who help flowers are very nice, aren’t they?
Little Miss: (flapping her hand wildly at the bug in an effort to gain its attention) I love you, bug! Kisses, kisses! (And yes, kissing noises commenced)
Mister Man: If you want, I can teach you how to squash bugs.
Little Miss: NO! He’s a nice bug. He’s my friend!
Mister Man: When you squash them, you kill them and then they’re dead.
Little Miss: MY bug. He’s my friend; I love my bug!
There’s a happy medium somewhere, isn’t there? Mister Man requesting over and over for the past few days a list of the nice things that bugs do has sunk in. For Little Miss, at least. And in general, I’m ok with him squishing bugs – so long as he isn’t the kid out there with the magnifying glass trying to fry the suckers. That’s when I sit down and have a totally different conversation with him.