unintentional trauma
It’s mosquito season again. Yippee! Another plus for living in the woods. I mean, I know there are mosquitoes everywhere, but believe me when I say they are particularly bad in our backyard. But at least we aren’t breeding them in the swamp anymore. Yep, I know it could be far worse, so with that in mind I gratefully douse my kids in noxious fumes and send them out to play.
The boys usually accept the bug spray without comment, but today for some reason we fell into a discussion. Jackson wanted to know exactly why we were trying to ward off the mosquitoes. And I answered all his questions without a second thought.
“If you don’t put on the bug spray they’ll bite you,” I told him.
“How? Do mosquitoes have teeth?”
“Uh, well, sort of,” searching my brain for ancient information. “They have long mouthparts, sort of like a needle, and at the end are really tiny teeth.”
“Why do they want to bite me?”
“Well, they’re just looking for food, and you’re so super sweet they can’t resist a taste.”
“Why do they eat people?”
“They drink blood, so any animal is fair game… including you and me.” It was at this point, when I finally looked down and noticed his wide-eyed expression, it occurred to me that I might have been a little too specific. Before I could backpedal a gnat landed on Jackson’s cheek and he was off like a flash, running toward the house and screaming bloody murder about being eaten.
Yeah. That could have gone better.
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