We were nearly home from church this morning when Julia started a shrill, screaming cry. The windows were down and she was holding a long beaded necklace. I pulled off the road and immediately feared that she had somehow managed to cut off an arm.
Jamming the car into park without the brake firmly depressed made on of those loud car fart/groans that sounded awful. I jumped out and found her, red faced and writhing in pain. She finally found the composure to sob, "A bee stung me."
I whipped her out of the car seat and started stripping her cable knit tights off. I wanted to make sure the bee wasn't still in her clothes waiting to make a pin cushion of her in the two minute trek to home. The bee was nowhere to be found and Julia was not in the mood to strip in a parking lot. She took toshrieking, "I wanna go home."
On the way home she settled down some. She told me that the bee flew in the window and stung her before flying out again. Her little thigh had swollen and whatever kind of insect it was had drawn blood.
At home Tim and I administered ice, bactine, a Barbie band aid, children's Tylenol, and an ice pop. This is the maximum in home treatment. There were approximately twelve more waves of crying as she ran through all of her questions. "Why did the bee sting me?" "Why is it swollen?" "Is this the first time I've been stung by a bee?"
It was not the first time. She was stung in August about three years ago. I know this as a precise fact because I wrote it in her baby book.
Tim and I told her all of our bee sting stories.
There was the time a bee flew in the air vent of my Dad's old Ford truck and stuck right in my sister's neck. That was pretty traumatic.
Once, I was stung twice and sat for the rest of the day with my ankle elevated on a pillow as my mom nursed me back to health.
We kept from her my mom's trip to the emergency room. She was attacked by a whole swarm of bees. She was stung over forty times and could have died.
And today I felt like the world was ending, all over a little bee.