Hmm, let's not get into the likelihood of Panthers in deserts.
I was never a particularly anxious person, until I had children. Then, within days of finding out I was pregnant, a myriad of worry opened itself up to me, and like everyone else I was dragged screaming over the abyss.
The anxiety has waxed and waned over time; the cot death worry was replaced by the choking worry. The nappy rash worry was replaced by the wiping, flushing, washing worry. The separation anxiety was replaced by the 'hope she eats her lunch or she'll be feral' worry.
But lately I find myself contending with a new worry. A new ominous worry.
The worry that goes by the name NITS.
Now we've had nits. Couple of months ago found the little critters on Miss 4. NITS, I thought, this'll be worth a blog post. No worries. Bit of shampoo and there we go.
But then I discovered the Nit landscape had changed. No more soaking your child in DDT and she'll be right (hell, I survived), no more shaving their head and dousing them in petrol (okay, that didn't happen when I was a kid - that I know of - but it was once a cure).
No, there are nit combs and choices between chemical and natural, and essential oils and shower caps and soaking-in and more combing and the cetaphil cure. Frankly its a choice of how you want your nit; baked, suffocated or chemically dehydrated.
Of course, if there is a natural way to deal with these things, then that's what I want to do - and holy mother of god the screaming. Miss 4 (she of sensitive scalp) went ballistic. I didn't know what to do but keep going, as she had to be nit free to go to school. It was one of those parenting moments that will haunt me forever.
Despite the angst, the natural soak-em-in-oil and comb-em-out method worked. And except for my propensity to start rocking in corners whenever one of the kids scratched her head, we've gone along fine since then.
Until yesterday. Nits have made a reappearance at school.
This news, on top of insecurity about hubs job and a terrifying near miss on the motorway that afternoon, sent me plunging straight over the edge of the anxiety abyss. Yes. Even after two glasses of wine I was still replaying the moment when a ute forced me to cut-off a speeding B-Double, or have him hit my rear end, and was unable to face dragging a fine-toothed nit comb through my screaming child's hair.
But, the buck stops with me, and the situation had to be dealt with.
So, I poured more wine, braced myself with a large bag of marshmallows, a nit comb, and some Cetaphil lotion, and we commenced.
It was fine.
There were no nits. No lice, no eggs - though I did the treatment anyway, they're slippery little suckers. The Cetaphil lotion went on a lot easier than the oil based treatment had, it made the hair easier to comb, and every time there was discomfort I shovelled another handful of marshmallows into her.
So Thank You (God, Universe, Whomever), I needed that kind of break - was about to run out of wine FFS, and the only choice after that was the warm bottle of Moet we've been saving for 'special.'
In other news to gladden the heart - I've blogged before about Barbie dolls, and the fact that toy makers seem to think its cute to see little girls playing with dolls who look like street-walkers. But below is Miss 4 dressed up in her version of what Barbie looks like.