Showers

 

Arachniphilia

In the middle of the night, my four-year-old knelt down by my bed, tapped me on the shoulder, and whispered into my ear.

Her: "Daddy, I'm scared. It's so dark." 

Me, (trying to remember where I am and whispering so as not to wake my wife): "Um. Okay.         Let's, uh, go back to your bed and I'll sing you some songs." 

Her: "Okay."

Once she's back in bed, I lay down next to her and we sing quiet duets of "Row, row, row your boat," and "Twinkle twinkle little star," and Diana Ross' "If we hold on together."

I pause a moment as I feel a spider crawl across my bare foot. I flick it away from me.

My daughter: "Daddy! Was that a spider!?" 

Me: "Yes. But don't worry, I got rid of it." 

Her: "But it looked like a baby! You don't hurt baby spiders. You take care of them (this seems to be a pattern)! Baby spiders are my favorite!"

I sigh. A minute later, we're both on our hands on knees looking for the baby spider, and upon finding it, my daughter marches me to the front door where I deposit it gently outside.

My daughter: "I'm not scared anymore. Goodnight, dad." 

Me: "Goodnight. I love you." 

Her: "I love you too. And I love baby spiders." 

Me: "Okay."

I finally crawl back into bed, and all I can dream about it eight-legged crawly things. I'm pretty sure my daughter and I are sharing dreams.

And when I wake up and pull aside my covers, I kid you not, a spider (very much not a baby) scampers out of my bed.

It's a little frightening the way a kid's dreams, if nurtured, become reality.

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The next day, we had more spider conversations on the walk home from pre-school:

Her: "Dad, do spiders talk?" 

Me: "Probably. Or, at least they use body language." 

Her: "Hmm. Well, I want to look up on the internet how to talk spider language. 'Cause I want to ask a spider to be my pet. Lately they just keep running away from me."

Keep on running spiders. Keep on running.

Syrup in my bed, Fly Girl, marriage and baby, spiky claws, crazy art