"Mom!" the child said, her face twisted up in an angry grimace and her finger rubbing the side of her face. "There's something wrong with my ear."
I glanced at her from three feet away as the grocery store cashier moved things brainlessly across the scanner. There was something dark on her skin, an inch or so in front of her right ear. "What the...." Then I remember that she whacked her head against a coupon dispenser that had been jutting out into the baking aisle.
"It's probably just a little dried blood," I said. "From when you hit that thing."
She nodded, but kept rubbing at the spot. When I finally got through the line, I pulled up her hair and got a better look.
It wasn't blood. It had legs. "Oh, god," I said, without thinking. "It's a tick."
"It's a
what?" she shrieked.
"Don't freak out," I said quietly, pushing her between me and the grocery cart.
"
What?!"
The child whimpered through clenched lips as we pushed out of the store. "What... what...," she sniffled. "What is on me?"
"It's a tick," I said, glancing at the nasty thing again and trying to be calm myself. The tick was also pretty freaked out from all of the rubbing and shrieking and was wiggling its little legs for all they were worth. "It's a bug. It won't hurt you -- at worst it will leave a little bump like a mosquito bite... but we need to get it off." I gave the bug a little tug and the child's skin moved with it.
"Don't!" she shrieked again. "It hurts!"
"Ok. Ok. We can do it when we get home."
"
Mom!"
"What?"
"
DON'T TAKE A PICTURE!"
"But.... Umm. OK. Sorry."
She spent the 20-minute ride home crying and I spent it trying to explain to her that lots of people get ticks, that she probably got it out in the woods where she had been exploring that morning, that it would come off, and that she wasn't going to die of Lyme Disease in the next half hour.
I was also thinking "yuck, yuck, yuck" and reviewing in my head the last time I -- with limited success -- removed a tick from my dog.
It got messy.
When we got home, I sat her on the couch where we have the best light. I got a pair of little tweezers and she looked at me like I was holding a gigantic flaming iron brand.
"MOM!
NO!"
"Child, it has to come off."
She shook her head furiously. I could see the tick sticking straight out from her face and fluttering a bit in the breeze. My mind raced.
Popsicles.
Popsicles cured her
bee sting, they'll fix this -- at least long enough for me yank the little bugger out of her face. I ran to the freezer and presented her with a grape popsicle. "We'll numb your face with the freezing cold and then it won't hurt to pull the tick out."
She didn't hear me quite right. "You'll freeze the tick?"
I shrugged: Close enough. "Yeah. Sure. We'll freeze the tick."
She sniffled. "OK."
I put the grape popsicle against her quivering, tear-stained cheek, grabbed the critter with the tweezers and pulled. Her skin pulled up into a tiny teepee beside her ear.
"Mom! That hurts!"
"Sorry. Sorry." I let go and put the popsicle back against her face. The tick gave a sad little kick. The child's tears were back and I sensed my window of opportunity was closing so I grabbed the tick with my tweezers, pulled while gently twisting and...
Pop!
It was out.
I couldn't believe my eyes.
There was a tiny red spot where it had attached, but otherwise I had managed to get the whole bug off without breaking it into little pieces.
"Can I see it?" asked the child, suddenly calm.
I showed it to her. It was still tightly held in the tweezers. I think I must of squished it at some point because the legs weren't moving anymore.
"It's kind of cute," she said.
I glared at her. I knew where this was going.
"It's a tick," I said. "It's getting flushed. You can't keep it as a pet."
"Awwwww, Mom..."
(Note: It took a couple of weeks for me to get permission from the child to publish this story. The little red spot disappeared quickly and there's been no sign of any weird rashes or tiredness.)
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