Welcome to my world, where the chaos of parenting meets the unexpected horror of lice. You see, my partner, Lisa, has a knack for self-diagnosing every possible ailment. This year alone, she’s convinced herself she’s suffered from a dislocated shoulder, tendinitis, and even walking pneumonia. If she ever took the time to read about hypochondria online, I’m certain she’d have a new list of woes to share.
To make matters worse, she’s developed a serious fear of bed bugs. In her mind, these pests have become legendary, nearly invisible, and responsible for most of the world’s issues. Our household, while generally tidy, has been accused of harboring these critters at least five times, usually as she laments in the middle of the night, begging me to help inspect the mattress. Thankfully, we’ve never actually encountered bed bugs—until now. Enter the LICE-POCOLYPSE, which struck just before Christmas.
Day 0 (6 Days Before Christmas)
After a family outing to the movies, we follow our usual routine: everyone strips down in the laundry room and tosses their clothes straight into the dryer. It’s a bizarre ritual to prevent bed bugs, but it’s our norm. What we don’t realize is that our oldest child has unknowingly brought home a different kind of pest.
Day 1 (5 Days Before Christmas)
It’s family game night, and suddenly my daughter complains about an itchy scalp. Lisa, ever the vigilant parent, places our daughter under bright lights for a thorough inspection. It’s a scene reminiscent of a medical procedure. “I’ve found something!” she exclaims. I feel calm—this is just another one of her exaggerated fears, right? But then I see it—a tiny bug darting through her hair. My heart sinks as I nod to Lisa, who promptly erupts into panic mode. My poor daughter is crushed.
Before I know it, Lisa has dashed to the pharmacy, likely buying every possible lice treatment available. I can almost see her planning to start a hairless commune to prevent such an incident from happening again. The rest of the night spirals into chaos, filled with cleaning frantically and applying lice treatments, all for just three bugs.
Latex gloves snap, and chemical sprays fill the air. In our frenzy, Lisa knocks over a lamp, shattering glass everywhere. “Leave it! We don’t have time!” she shouts. We toss out hundreds of dollars’ worth of bedding, clothing, and toys, while simultaneously juggling treatments and deep cleaning. “Our entire bed has to go!” she insists.
In the midst of it all, I find myself shaving my son’s head in a dimly lit room, trying to keep the mood light while my daughter tries to convince herself that “having lice is kind of fun.” All our plans are scrapped, and we notify friends and family of our predicament. It feels like we’re under house arrest, prisoners in our own home, at the mercy of these minuscule invaders.
Day 2 (4 Days Before Christmas)
Our house looks like a war zone. Everything is covered, sheets draped over furniture, and we’ve boiled every lice comb we own. The sound of Michael Bublé plays softly in the background, but the atmosphere is heavy, reminiscent of a last meal on death row.
It’s day two of our lice crisis, and while we haven’t spotted any live bugs since the initial discovery, the paranoia lingers in our minds. We’re set to visit Lisa’s family for Christmas, but with our lice situation, we’re unsure if we’ll be welcome.
Day 3 (3 Days Before Christmas)
Lisa has a nightmare about lice crawling all over her, while I’m having vivid dreams about radical solutions. What if we just put the kids in the dryer for a quick spin? Then she discovers an electric comb that detects and eliminates lice. What a time to be alive!
At the store, I find myself buying beer and jokingly fantasizing about grabbing lice treatments and waving them in front of the amused cashier.
Day 4 (2 Days Before Christmas)
I wake up imagining our Elf on the Shelf looking horrified, donning a surgeon’s cap to prevent lice outbreaks among the elf community. Lisa insists we meditate, but we’re quickly interrupted by our kids. I wonder if she’s lost her mind, creating Pinterest-worthy snacks while the specter of lice looms over us.
Day 5 (Christmas Eve)
We’re still paranoid about nits—lice eggs that might hatch any day now. I joke to Lisa that these nits could be sold on eBay as “the original Hatchimals,” but she’s not amused. We text family to gauge their comfort level about being around us, with a lukewarm response.
We try to keep the spirit alive by watching “A Charlie Brown Christmas.” When Pig-Pen appears, we both say, “I bet that kid has lice.” At this point, we’re just trying to hold on to some semblance of normalcy.
Day 6 (Christmas)
Santa arrives, probably dressed in a hazmat suit. We visit family but maintain a safe distance, exchanging fist bumps instead of hugs. We’re the black sheep of the gathering, but somehow, the Christmas spirit remains unscathed.
In the end, tragedy brings us closer together. Will the nits hatch? Will we find more bugs? Who knows, but we’re determined to face it as a family. I make a silly gesture, pretending I have lice, and Lisa isn’t amused—some things never change.
For more on navigating the ups and downs of family life, check out this post. If you’re curious about home insemination kits, you can find a great selection at Make a Mom. And don’t forget to explore CCRM’s blog for invaluable insights into pregnancy and home insemination.
In summary, lice may disrupt your world, but it’s the shared experience that strengthens family bonds. Through the chaos, laughter, and resilience, we learn that we can overcome anything together.