So last night Hannah was a mess from playing outside in the dirt all afternoon. I'm really big on letting the kids get dirty, I figure it's a part of being a kid, and hey, they're washable!
I toss her in the shower, and go to the living room to work on picking things up while she was in there. (and before any judging goes on from any Judgey McJudgerpants out there: the living room is like 10 feet from the bathroom, our kids are raised taking showers from the time they are very young, and I left the bathroom door open. So HA.) Anyways, I start picking things up, and from out of nowhere Hannah starts screaming. Hysterically. I run in there, a million different terrible scenarios running through my head. There is at least one I didn't think of though, and what was going on happened to be one of them.
As I get into the bathroom, and look into the shower, Hannah looks up at me sobbing and shrieking "Spider! Spider!" I look down, and holy heck, there is a SPIDER. ON my kid. Not a tiny one either. Yeah, I freaked out. I used a towel to brush it off her, scooped her up, turned the water off (because even in a crisis I am mindful of our carbon footprint), and made a run for it.
I came into the office with her wrapped in her towel and sat snuggling her for a while. I think we were both traumatized. I related the story to some friends, one of which asked if I killed the spider. I had not, I had just grabbed Hannah and run, without looking back. Eventually Hannah fell asleep, out of exhaustion or shock, I don't know. I put her down and went in the bathroom to look. Of course the spider was nowhere to be found.
Yay for living in the south.