We have so far managed to avoid the norovirus. But we are being tormented by another kind of terror. Fleas. It's enough to make my fragile self need professional white coat services - for both bug eradication and my mental health.
Today's flea count:
1 ankle biter in our bedroom
1 on the Bean's head on the changing table
2 on my right forearm - same little fucker?
1 on the Bean's cheek in the living room
1 on the Bean's head at the mall (we left the house so I wouldn't have to deal, and now they're following us?!?)
1 on my wrist in the car
2 new bites on my back and several on each ankle - how on earth?
My dad says its war. So in his words, we may have lost today's battle, but we will certainly win the war. We are going to continue with the obsessive cleaning and hold off on chemical warfare until the weekend.
18 years of Henry
1 week ago
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