Thursday, 11 June 2015
Nit Patrol: You are under arrest
Tiny lay in my bed on Friday morning and then started scratching her head vigorously. She then proclaimed, "Mum, my head is so itchy."
Alarm bells rang. Well not really, but in my mind, alarm bells were ringing, lights were flashing, there was no ticker tape parade, I was in a state of emergency.
I grabbed Matt's phone for the torch, and shone it bright. I couldn't see anything. But only because I needed my glasses - so grabbed them too. And then I grabbed Matt's torch again, and started the search - which didn't actually take long because I found Tiny's hair pets within a matter of seconds.
"Quick Tiny, into the bathroom."
And then nit patrol started.
She was in the shower before you could say, heads, shoulders, nits and towels, nits and towels.
Thankfully, because of my glamorous life as a non-mummy blogger mummy blogger I had been sent some nit stuff, some time ago - and had held onto the comb, fearing this day would come.
I worked that conditioner through her hair like sands through the hourglass. And then I worked that comb through her locks like... Like a tight steel-toothed comb through a kilo of nots in a ball of wire. Not easy. Oh dears.
Tiny was patient. Wrapped in layers of towels. We ruled that nit patrol. We combed and combed, and wow, I don't know if I have ever written about how much I hate parasitic creatures (does anyone love them? Does their own mother even love them?), but yuck. We got so many of those disgusting hair pets out, it was impossible to count.
Four days later and we've done two more nit patrols. Last night's nit patrol we counted each as we got it out, gave it a name and wrote it down, before we sent it off to a water resort. A dark and hot water resort.
Tiny in subsequent patrols was particularly wiggly
Sayonara Kevin, Jen and Ben (they were twins), Sheneke, Trevor, Carrie, Larry, all of you. So long and farewell, and no thanks for coming, and don't return.