I'm a Freaking HERO Mom

I don't like bugs.  (There are certain people who know me well who are rolling around on the floor laughing their asses off at the sheer understatement of that sentence.)

I have been known to shower in a different (much smaller) bathroom because a bug is slowly dying in my main shower because I don't want to kill/touch/deal with it.

I have been known to scream bloody murder at the sight of a harmless little spider.

I have been known to try to bang a bug with something heavy, miss, crawl up in a ball on the floor and cry until someone else kills it and removes the carcass.

(Yes, I am a Biologist.  I'd rather deal with people's body parts and microscopic organisms than a bug any day of the week.  Thanks.)


However ...

I now have a daughter.  And a house with a basement.  I can no longer scream bloody murder when I spy a bug.  In fact, I have been trying to calmly hide all fear of things-with-more-legs-than-me-that-can-move-faster-than-me-and-chase-me-in-my-nightmares from my daughter.  I don't want to teach her to be afraid - if she's going to be squeamish about bugs, she can find that out on her own.

But then, I went a step further.

I bought a Bug Kit.  A plastic box with a magnifying glass in the lid, a net for catching flying insects and little plastic tweezers.

I had put it away with some post-birthday stuff and she found it one day.

I took her outside and helped her look for bugs.

I even picked up a worm and a bug with the tweezers and put them in the bug box.

See, magnifyer.

The bug kept flipping over on its back.  I put the leaf in there to help it stay upright.

The worm was stretching out and showing off for the camera.

Then when she lost interest in the bugs, I put them back in the garden.

Then I scrubbed my freaking hands until they were red.

And had a nightmare about a tarantula.