Jack's speech therapist is a very nice, very enthusiastic woman who does not share my anxieties. I learned this today when she brought out a bag of hats to play with. "Off!" "On!" "Hat!" she repeated over and over, and I heard her, but in my head she was saying, "Lice! Lice! LICE!"
I don't know why I didn't say, "Woah, woah, I'll go get some of his hats." Because God knows how many heads those hats have touched, and I internalized the rule about not ever sharing hats or combs with anyone. Lice love a clean head, you know. They do. And my head is clean. And so is Jack's. Let us then use our non-licey hats, if you please.
But I didn't have the nerve. Instead I cringed as she instructed Jack to put a hat on Mama's head. And I pretended to sneeze it off. Have mercy.
I've been itching ever since.
Have I ever told you about the night before my wedding? I worked with kids, then, in a residential facility, and the week before my wedding we had a lice outbreak. I had the nurse check me several times a day, because I was just SURE that I was going to get it. Even though she never saw a single nit, I spent the night before our wedding combing Rit through my extremely long, thick hair. It took me until 2 am. I was not going to go down as the bride who gave her entire guest list lice.
I never found a single nit, and the next day the hairdresser used enough shellac on my hair to choke a horse, let alone a bug.
I have issues. Serious issues.