A couple of mornings ago I went into the kitchen to get Piper's bottle and out of the corner of my eye I thought I saw a piece of food by the sink. It wasn't food. It was a roach. I then proceeded to yell for Carey at the top of my lungs to come quickly... which he did.... but it was 7am and he had been woken up by this panicked yelling so he wasn't happy with me when he found out it was because of a roach. He sprayed it with roach killer, it ran into the garbage disposal and promptly died the horrific death of being chopped to pieces. Don't get me wrong, I hate roaches but that's not a death I would have wished on him. I felt a little better about it though after I spent an hour and a half bleaching every square inch of that counter and sink, along with all the bottles that had been sitting right next to where it was sprayed.
Now every time I stand at the sink I imagine this mutilated roach flying out to seek his revenge on me. Or worse, his friends laying eggs inside our ears like that one episode of ER.
Then later that day I was, once again, feeding Piper and spotted a flea on my arm. We've had these dogs for 3 years and never once had any problems and now that there's a baby in the house they bring them in?
COME ON!
So now I get to call the exterminator, vacuum like crazy, have him do his treatment that will have all of us (including the dogs) kicked out of the house for at least 4 hours and all because of the threat brought on by one. stupid. flea. Actually two, but still.
In the meantime, I'm convinced I feel them jumping around on my legs and on my head.
I don't hate many things. I loathe bugs. It's why I don't like being outside after dark, why I've never wanted to go camping, why I will never live alone because then who'd be there to kill them for me?
This is my nightmare.
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