Ugh. So it's now 2:19 am. I've been having trouble sleeping all night, probably just because Daniel is gone, but I've also been just strangely paranoid from the centipede he killed in the hall last night.
I woke up to nurse Michael about an hour ago, and we have Sofia the First on a continuous loop, so it's definitely not quiet in here. Anyway, I kept waking up thinking I heard a scratching noise.
At first I thought it was Izzy, but then realized that she was outside. Then I tried to convince myself that maybe it was coming from outside the window, and it was just Penny or a deer snorting around. I went back to sleep telling myself not to freak out, that had to be it.
I woke up shortly after, hearing it again. Ignorance is bliss, and I didn't even want to get up to look because I was too afraid of what I might find. I just stared hard at the window...and the cord for the blind was moving.
I told myself it was the wind...there was a slight breeze, but none of the other cords were moving...
Dammit!!!!
I just sat for a minute and wished really hard that Daniel was home. And I actually thought "maybe it's just a mouse"
"JUST a mouse" as if that wouldn't be bad enough. When did my scale of gross things get so low?
Blake's last story flashed through my mind and for a second, I think I actually hoped it was a menehune. Real or not, I would have preferred that to what I knew in the back of my mind that it definitely was.
I finally worked up the courage to do something. My shred of hope that it was "just a mouse" was still alive, so I ran to the front door, called in the cat and dog and pointed them at the corner.
Well, Penny laid down next to it to sleep, and Isabel jumped on the bed and started demanding to be petted. Bust. Meanwhile the scratching noise is definitely real and still happening.
I summoned all the courage I had, turned on the lamp, and grabbed the tongs from the nightstand. ( side note, is it sad we sleep with a pair of tongs on call). I used them to turn over my wicker laundry basket first, and sure enough, there it was, a nasty 6-7 inch centipede.
Dammit!
I couldn't help it, I ran to the kitchen and put on my boots, ran back, said a silent prayer of thanks that it was still there, and stomped it as hard as I could.
It was still alive, of course. So I had tiger it with the tongs. That was it.
Battle over.
And now I'm just sitting straight up in bed, trying so hard to convince myself that that was the only one, and I can go back to sleep. There's no need to sit up and keep vigilant watch over my 30 square feet of bed and children. But we all know that's not true.
Where there's one, there are many, and the only thing worse than a bite is the paranoia of being bitten.
Dammit.