The Great Infestation Of 2012

     In my internet travels as a blogger and a blog reader, lo these three months, I have seen a lot of people confess a lot of things.  And thank God for that.  Without all of these perfect strangers spilling their respective guts, I may have gone completely insane by now.  (As opposed to the three quarters insane that I currently am.)  One person, in particular, has struck me with her candor.  She even hosts a weekly link-up called Secret Mommyhood Confession Saturday.  I'm, of course, referring to Kimberly at All Work And No Play Make Mommy Go Something Something.  It's fairly self-explanatory.  Every week, mommies from all around the interwebs link-up to post their deepest, darkest secrets.  After weeks of reading and lurking silently in the shadows, I've decided to leap into the fray this week.  Hopefully, I don't scare away everybody.
     As I've mentioned, blogging is awesome because it allows you a forum to talk about things that are frowned upon in polite society.  But my secret mommyhood confession is one that I haven't heard anyone else talking about.  It seems that even in the liberating world of the mommy blogger, there is still at least one topic that is taboo.  Lice.  Yeah, I said it.  We've had a lice outbreak in my house.  No big whoop.  Wanna fight about it?  Nobody, and I mean nobody wants to admit that their kid has lice.  Because even though intellectually most of us know that a lice outbreak has little to do with hygiene, hearing that our child has a damn entomology exhibit on their head sends us into a tizzy.  "What?  Well, I never!  That's just not possible.  I blow dry my child's hair with compressed air every night.  There's simply no way that a life form could survive on his/her pristine scalp!"
     When you find out that your child has lice, you will go through an abbreviated version of the five stages of grief.  They are as follows:

1. Denial:  I've already mentioned this one.  You could have a licensed health care professional pointing out the little critters to you individually through a magnifying glass, and you will still not be able to accept the situation.  Fortunately, this stage passes pretty quickly, or everyone in the surrounding area would be summarily and permanently infested.
2. Anger:  This stage is a bitch to get over.  You will lash out at anyone who has ever come near your precious angel baby while having the audacity to have hair on their head. 
3. Bargaining:  This stage passes more slowly for some than for others.  My bargaining stage consisted mostly of pleading with the follicular gods to pretty please with sugar on top prevent the little critters from spreading to my other children.  Much like genie wishes, I should have been more specific.  None of the other kids got them, but my one poor child got them over and over again for almost five months.  We've since figured out where she was getting them, but still.  Cut me a break!
4. Depression:  My depression stage hung around for a while, especially since we could not seem to shake the damn things.  It came in many shapes.  From reading the note that the school sends home, all the while knowing that the anonymous child they are referring to is your own, to being forced to ask the make-up counter lady at Walgreens where the lice shampoo is.  These things will send you into a shame spiral.  Side note:  I don't know who you're trying to kid, lice shampoo manufacturers, but your product does not have a fresh herbal scent.  Instead, it smells like I dumped a fifth of Jager onto my child's head.
5. Acceptance:  Most people tend to reach this stage only after they have managed to rid their house of the scourge.  Hell, I'm doing the same thing right now.  Only after we discovered where the lice were coming from, and did our final treatment, am I now comfortable talking about this.  Yeah, I'm a hypocrite.  So, what?

     Whew!  I feel better already.  Confession really is good for the soul!  Maybe next week I'll talk about something really gnarly.  You've been warned.