T.M. vs. The Tick

Pulling a comb through Julia’s hair last night after her bath, the comb just stopped suddenly and caught on something.

“Hold still, sweetie…” I start lifting her hair away to look at her scalp.

“Yeah, I have a bump on my head,” she tells me.

And she does. Underneath her hair there’s a bump. It’s a largish little knob, about the side of a sunflower seed.

The chief difference is that it’s gray and squishy and it has too many legs and it’s burrowing it’s way into my little girl’s skull.

I tap it with my fingernail and watch it adjust it’s position.

It’s a tick.

A few phone calls later, I’m getting down to business in the bathroom with a pair of tweezers. Sam asks questions like “Do they lay eggs inside of you?” Julia lets out a little scream and I clench my teeth and gently recommend that he table his remarks for a later time.

A few minutes later I have what appears to be all of the tick out. Julia inspects it for a second and says “It looks like a ladybug,” which it does a little bit.

I drop it down the sink and she asks “You’re going to kill him?”

“You bet.”

I check her head to make sure that all of the little fucker is gone. Then I check Samuel. While I’m digging through his Beatle-esque mop, he asks me “Do ticks just go in your hair?”

“No.”

“Uh, can you get them in . . . The Spot?”

“What spot?”

“Your privates.”

Julia lets out a little scream and starts to giggle.

I put them to bed.