I’m not really the type of gal who is easily disturbed by insects. I mean, I don’t really love them, but as long as they’re gentle or they basically want to avoid me, I’m happy to share the air with them. The problem is, I kind of feel like insects of the stinging variety are following me through my years, and I wish they knew how much I don’t like it.
As a teenager, I was stung by a wasp while retrieving the mail. I don’t know why a wasp was hanging out by the mailbox or why it didn’t want me to get my mail, but I let it slide because it was the first time.
And then, when I was living in Texas and was still pregnant with Jack, I nannied for several different kids. I used to nap along with one of the little girls I looked after, and one time, I woke up to the sound of buzzing. A mud dauber (in other words, a hideous reddish-brown wasp) was flying angrily around my room. I was able to “take care of it” probably only because of the rush of adrenaline it gave me. Maybe a month later, I found another one in my room (thankfully, this time the little girl I looked after wasn’t sleeping in there). I “took care” of that one, too.
This one is the worst. One day, when Jack was only a couple of months old, he was sleeping on my bed and I was on the computer in a corner of my room. I felt something tickle my hand and figured it was just a cord brushing against me. Well, then I felt it again, got a bit curious, and looked over at my hand. Nope, not a cord. A mud dauber. GAH! I leapt up and the mud dauber buzzed to the window, behind the blinds. Fortunately, Ryan was home, so I grabbed Jack and ran to Ryan to ask him to help me. He searched the room and found no trace of the stupid bug, but suddenly, Jack was screaming. I looked all over him and found no reason for distress, so I hugged him to me and tried to soothe him. Suddenly, I experienced such an intensely painful sting on my finger, which was supporting Jack between his legs. It was so painful that I may have dropped Jack if I hadn’t been holding him right next to the bed. I laid him down and immediately stripped off his little sleeper. Lo and behold, there on his leg was the mud dauber, and there were at least five stings on Jack’s tiny little inner thigh. It was heartbreaking.
After that, I once had to chase a bee out of my apartment in California, but it’s nothing to get upset about when I compare it to the baby-stinging mud dauber.
And that brings us to our house here in New York. A couple of weeks ago, a honey bee was just hanging out above our kitchen sink. We tried to figure out a way to capture it so that we could let it go outside, but it didn’t want to cooperate and we (by we, I mean Ryan, of course) were forced to take more drastic measures. And then, just the other day, we came in from a long day away from home only to find a ginormous hornet hanging out on our kitchen ceiling!
What is the meaning of this?! I mean, really? Is it normal? Does everyone feel like they are constantly fighting off stinging insects, or have they just taken a particular liking to me and my home? It’s really quite ridiculous. I’m starting to feel suspicious.
These are the kinds of things that keep me up at night. Seriously.