Last night, I had to go up to my four-year old son’s room and kill a spider (I mean, carefully trap a spider between a glass and a piece of cardboard and compassionately… no. I killed it.)
Let me point out here that I have a fear of spiders that it is somewhat greater than the average person’s. I have spider night terrors. I once cornered a spider in my bathroom and called my ex-boyfriend at his work to come over and kill it (I mean, carefully trap the spider…). So having to be the one to stand on a chair and remove the large-ish, thick-legged horror from my child’s wall, while being brave and cheerful all the while, was a big moment for me. It was one of those moments that defined me as parent. And for a moment it made me want to dive five years back in time – well, make it six, to safely avoid morning sickness – and pull the covers over my head for a good, long while. I’m still a little shaky and ambivalent – I’m not always sure that I like being in charge. But I did it. And I’ll keep doing it, until – how old do you think my son has to be before I expect him to kill the spiders for me?
