My youngest’s bug fear continues, unabated. This past weekend we went back up to our family’s cabin in the Sierras, where bugs are just a fact of life. My mother armed the little one with her very own fly swatter, and set her on a bug-killing rampage that did not actually harm any insects, but landed several pieces of dirt and lint in the swatter’s net.
She actually seemed a little better by the end of the trip, shrieking hysterically at the sight of a bug, then calling someone to come kill it, but not trembling to the point of causing a mini-earthquake beneath her. She befriended the bug zapper, cheering up every time she heard the loud zap sound, asking repeatedly, “Does that mean a bug’s gone? Does that sound mean a bug is dead?” And she only woke up one night screaming about spiders in a dream.
Still, as soon as we arrived home, she was in bug-inspection mode, doing her careful sweep of the perimeter of each room, looking for spiders behind bookcases and desks, for flies hidden behind the curtains, or in the corners of the windows. After two days of searching, she’s only been able to find one fly, who flew out the back door as soon as I opened it. So far today she hasn’t called me in to kill any insects, real or imagined, so hopefully we’re getting past the inspection mode.