Around 9:30pm my two boys came out of their room all in a buzz about fireflies they'd seen at their window and how they wanted to catch some. We obliged (if you've experienced fireflies you'll understand). We ran out into the yard chasing fireflies with little success. Then Lindsay and the boys realized there were a number of fireflies congregated around our door and porch light, along with about a million other bugs. They spent a few minutes picking them off the door and adding them to Tupperware containers, swatting away the rest of the bugs as they did so. We then went inside, the boys put their tubs of fireflies on the dresser and went to bed.
Everything was normal for about an hour.
Then Gerret came tearing out of his room shouting, crying, and flailing about desperately. I was in the depths of cleaning the fridge at the time so Lindsay went to him and I could just make out comments about something in his pants. Something biting him.
*if you're faint at explicit stories I suggest you turn away now*
Lindsay removed his pants and underwear and began to examine him and I heard her say something about a rash as he still wriggles about, crying, and obviously in some pain—naked from the waste down. It was at that moment, there in the depths of the fridge, that I remembered an experience I had when I was younger.
I woke in a dazed and confused state, as though from an intense, but forgotten dream, and I lifted my pillow. I'm not sure why I lifted the pillow, but I did and there was a large something staring back at me! I slammed the pillow down trying to squash what was there and flailed myself out of bed and into my parents room (I was probably 7 or 8 at the time). As most parents might, they comforted me, took me back into my room, lifted my pillow, showed me there was nothing there, convinced me it was a dream, and sent me back to sleep.
The next morning, as I was making my bed, out of the mess of sheets, blankets and pillows fell a large, dead, praying mantis. It was quite a surreal event. I'd been so convinced it was a dream and all that fell apart before my eyes. The night had been as terrifying as I'd thought.
Now, the event didn't scar me or anything, but I've never forgotten and the memory flooded back upon me and I moved into the living room to examine Gerret. Lindsay was still doing a great job in comforting him and I calmed him enough to ask exactly where it hurt. He motioned expressly to the part of his body that—for the sake of not being too explicit—we'll call his cashew purse. I looked and, while it was red and rash like, there was a particularly red dot that looked not unlike a bite or a sting.
While Lindsay continued to rub his back and comfort him, I began searching his underwear and ultimately turning his pajama pants inside out. There, clinging to the inside of one of the pant legs was a black bug about the size of a quarter (see the picture above). My poor son. This monster must have gotten upon him while he was on the porch collecting bugs and made it's way into his pants and explored his usually restricted areas, the end result of which was a bite or sting right there on his aforementioned. There's not much you can say to a guy to comfort him after being bitten on his aforementioned. So we dabbed some cream on (washing and sanitizing our hands afterwards of course) and put him back to bed.
Today he's in top form and no repercussions (other than the latent insect phobia that's sure to accompany him for life now). And I had closure for my own bug experience from years before. And I'm glad for that experience otherwise I don't know I would have exercised more compassion than I initially had and we may have put his inhabited pants right back upon his wounded loins.
Poor Gerret.
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