I’m afraid of head lice. There, I said it.

It’s an embarrassing thing for a would-be earth mother like me to admit. I wouldn’t call myself “germophobic,” or even “high maintenance.” I certainly wouldn’t call myself a “neat freak.” I mean, have you seen this place? Without even getting up I could put my hands on a half-eaten banana, an old washcloth, piles of random paperwork, and an empty Diet Coke can. My 3-year-old is happily cavorting in a pile of stuffed animals on the floor while my 5-year-old is building some sort of evil-genius contraption out of Legos in the basement. Just another Sunday around here.

But there’s an insidious, near-hysterical order that’s gradually taking shape underneath the comfortably messy exterior. As a stubborn case of head lice creeps its way through the community, our bathroom is overstocked with Fairy Tales and Lice Knowing You hair care products. Half our pillow supply, stuffed animals, and blankets have been packed away as emergency back-up. My kids have become accustomed to daily head checks with the Terminator™ nit comb.

The crazy went up to 11 after a near miss last weekend – just a few hours before a scheduled playdate, the kid’s mom called to cancel because she’d just spotted a louse on her son’s head. I should have been relieved, but it was just too damn close for comfort. I actually called a local head lice expert to run through some fretful what-if’s. I even took The Boy to the kiddie hair salon for a preemptive buzz cut, but the stylist was paranoid about going too short and barely buzzed it at all (although she did manage to shave off some of his eyebrow, poor squirmy little guy).    

Sometimes I catch myself running through drills in my mind, imagining different head lice scenarios and reviewing procedures. The anticipation is what makes it so unbearable. We know it’s out there, we know there’s a good chance we’ll get it. We just don’t know when. Head lice isn’t the worst thing I’m afraid of, but given the amount of energy and brain power this particular fear sucks up, it’s definitely earned the title of “worst fear” for me lately.

I mean no disrespect to the many, many folks out there who’ve had to deal with head lice. I know it’s incredibly contagious and doesn’t discriminate. I know it’s not a reflection on personal hygiene or social status. I know it’s not a health risk. I just really, really don’t want us to get it.

When I talk to other parents who’ve been through head lice in their family, they’re usually pretty laid back and reassuring. “It wasn’t that big a deal,” they say, and go on to describe the many tedious steps they had to take to eradicate the little buggers. Some used insecticide shampoos like Rid or Nix; some took a more natural approach, marinating the kids’ heads in olive oil or mayonnaise to suffocate the lice. From what I understand, either way is effective. But no matter what substance you use to kill the lice, you’re screwed if you don’t pluck every single last pinhead-sized egg off of every single last strand of hair.  

And if that doesn’t sound impossible enough, you also have to clean every last item that might have come into contact with the lice – vacuum every couch cushion, car seat, and rug; wash all the bedding and clothes in hot water; quarantine stuffed animals and pillows in garbage bags for weeks. And in 7-10 days . . . Wheee! It comes back! It took them weeks, months in some cases, to get rid of head lice completely. (One of my friends took her family to a salon here in Seattle that actually does the nit-picking for you. It’s prohibitively expensive, of course, but lately I’ve been entertaining the notion of dipping into the vacation fund if need be.) 

So, yes, head lice is a colossal nuisance and nobody wants to get it. But why am I so afraid of it? Seriously, reading back over those last few paragraphs has me reaching for a nice paper bag to breathe into. Why is it scary? Head lice can’t kill you. All it really does is suck up a few weeks of your life with obsessive cleaning.

Maybe that’s it right there. As I mentioned before, cleaning is not my strong suit. Maybe it comes from growing up with a neat-freak parent, when my earnest housework incompetence was sometimes mistaken for laziness or insubordination. No. I just really sucked at cleaning. Even as an adult, I have all this vague anxiety and doubt around housework. Everything I touch just seems to get dirtier. It’s so embarrassing.

So, I think the real fear is about uprooting my cozy little nest with a full-on Stepford-Wife clean-a-thon. I’m afraid of facing my own incompetence at this very basic thing that a parent – especially a mother – is expected to be able to do with ease. I’m terrified that I simply can’t do it; that I’m physically incapable of cleaning effectively enough to beat a head lice infestation.

Although . . . I did beat an onslaught of ants in the kitchen last summer. It was an exhausting, obsessive, anxiety-ridden ordeal, but I managed to scour every inch of that kitchen several times over. I can’t stand people watching me while I clean, so I waited until everyone had gone to bed and stayed up all night with my rubber gloves and spray cleansers. And it worked! Not a single ant has darkened our doorstep since then. So I know I’m not entirely incompetent. A bit on the neurotic side, maybe, but not incompetent. I can do this if I have to.

That’s not enough to make me say “Bring it on!” But I suppose it’s enough to get my breathing back to normal. For now.