Last Week, Hell ... This Week, Jail

So, I picked Sage up at the babysitters yesterday and noticed immediately that the side of her left calf looked like it was in need of dire medical attention. I freaked out over the damn mosquitoes biting my baby. And what the hell happened to her leg? Automatic assuming of worse went into overdrive and my mind went straight to a) bit by nasty little eight-legged freaks, probably a horrid brown recluse, and the doctor was going to have to cut her leg and drain it ... b) bit by nasty little eight-legged freaks, that lay eggs in peoples flesh and OHMIGOD, the baby spiders would be hatching from my daughter if I did not get her to the doctor NOW! Yeah, it looked that bad for a mosquito bite. And yeah, spiders, those like black fuzzy looking things from the garden in particular, DO lay eggs in human flesh ... LIVING human flesh. My seventh grade science class and the story told by a boy named Wade came rushing back to me in all of it's horror and, OHMIGOD, a spider laid eggs in my babies leg.

It's a mosquito bite. And apparently Monkey is developing a "sensitivity" according to the pediatrician. I have pictures and I will post them once I get them uploaded into the computer. The doctors advice ... keep her away from mosquitoes. Like I set her outside on the deck at dusk, sipping Mai Tais, and let the mosquitoes feast on her tender baby flesh.

All of this has me wondering what I'm going to do if, or I should say when, something actually happens to her that is more serious than a mosquito bite?!? Am I going to be able to hold myself together? I'm not an overly dramatic person and usually remain calm during crisis situations. I'm always the voice of reason. I've always had the ability to detach myself from a situation enough to be useful instead of getting in the way. I'm not thinking I will be able to do that where my daughter is involved and it scares the shit out of me. What if I'm the only one there, like when she busted her lip over the weekend and I was freaking about where all of the blood was coming from, and cursed her father steadily for half an hour for working on the weekend, when he should have been home with me just in case she fell on that stupid block she wants to eat and cut her lip? Now that I look back, there wasn't that much blood. But Saturday evening, OHMIGOD, the blood! Where's it coming from? Did you cut your lip? Did you cut your gums? Did you somehow manage to bite your tongue with the slightly protruding top tooth? Did you knock a tooth out? For the record. Litte tiny cut. Bottom lip. Complete freak-out on my part. She was asleep forty-five minutes later.

I think worrying about her safety is going to be the end of my sanity. I can't deal with things hurting her. I can't deal with the possibility of it. What the hell am I going to do when she comes home from kindergarten and says some child pushed her down on the playground? I can tell you right now, at the rate my mind is going, first thought will be that horrid, monster child and it's breeders must suffer. I'm just hoping that the little synapses that fire in my brain and tell me when I am going overboard are still working correctly at the time because I don't want to only see my daughter on visitation days through a plate of glass! I need to find a way to be rational when it comes to her or ... I'm going to jail.

For now, I leave the more reasonable humans out there who think I'm becoming a drama queen in motherhood, with this ...