The Ants Go Marching

**Disclosure**

The details in this story are true and accurate, and have not been elaborated. No names have been changed to protect the innocent. No one's innocent in this story.

Murphy's Law. I have been a victim of it for 31 years. Because of this fated victimization, I have been deemed an Anti-Optimist. Which I prefer to call a "Realist." Anything that can go wrong...will. Famous lines by Thomas Moore:

I never had a slice of bread

Particularly large and wide

That did not fall upon the floor

And always on the buttered side.

Tony and I make the WILD and CRAZY decision to attempt a little rice cereal in the little man's formula. I wouldn't have done this for sleeping purposes alone, but I did read that it helps poor little reflux babies keep their food down and comfortably so. After the previous night of bi-hourly eating and crying, we were fit to be tied, therefore, fit to mix in a little of the good stuff.  Anxiously feeding him, and anxiously awaiting the coma we hoped would ensue, he finishes his dinner and goes right to bed. Not a peep. This is usual for his last feeding at 10:00. Let the countdown begin. Like giddy, pre-Christmas children, we rush to get to bed, praying for the gift of REM sleep for the first time in 7 weeks. Tony passes out in under two minutes, I tidy up the kitchen and prepare two bottles. There was a tidbit of my positivity coming out. Only preparing two bottles. The Self Fulfilling Prophecy MUST work at some point. 

I hop into bed, update my Facebook, turn on Friends, and .............. What the hell was that??? I felt something on my neck. Having itched from imaginary bugs before in a non-drug induced state, I confidently went back to Facebooking. Hey, maybe even spend some QT with the hubs, if you know what I mean...wink wink........OUCH!!! Again, I feel it. This time burning. Lots of burning!! I reach for the lamp and nudge Sleeping Beauty to my left. 

"Tony??"

"Huh?"

"Is there something crawling on my back??"

Holy Mary Mother of God, he pulls off an ant without missing a beat. And another. And another.  

I EJECT from the bed, and do that familiar dance that people do when covered with crawling things. Kind of like doing an Irish Jig on crack. Hop, hop, itch itch, front, back, top, bottom. I strip off my nightgown, not even taking time to suck in my stomach which I normally do to make myself feel better, and shake it like a maddened beast. As I return bedside, there it is. (Insert dramatic music here.) A trail of what must've been 300 ants coming from the baseboard, up the bedskirt, and right up under my pillow where my ill-fated head was resting. What on EARTH is under my pillow that is so attractive to ants you ask? Nothing. These must be the vicious, torturous ants that get a rise off of harassing innocent sleepers.  Meanwhile, in rushes Tony the Ant Warrior armed with his deadly Dustbuster. He starts sucking them to death, now all the while poor Harrison is TRYING to sleep through the night. At least we pray.

A few stirs here and there, but he's still way out of it. Phew...we must forge on! Kill the ants!! (Here comes the worry aforementioned in my previous blog) But wait!!! Are the ants going to kill the baby?? I envisioned a trail of helmet wearing ants as long as the Great Wall of China, leading up into my baby's crib attacking his every extremity. They'd probably snatch his remaining testicle!! KILL THE ANTS!!!

After a good 3o minutes of Dustbusting, I go out on a limb and suggest we get some ant spray, bait, traps, ANYTHING!!! Tony continues to Bust away. I think I saw a gleam in his eye as he continued his seek and destroy mission. Spray would just take the fun out of watching them being sucked up into the cyclone of ant death. Now, I credit my wonderful husband for always attempting to solve problems with a minimal expenditure of energy. An excellent time manager, he's always seeking shortcuts, but the repercussions of this battle would have to be prevented with diligence! After an ant bit him on his badonkadonk, he was finally convinced we needed to arm ourselves with poison, so he goes to get dressed. **Time elapsed 4 minutes** I walk into the closet and he's casually thumbing through his repertoire of collared shirts in an effort to find his best ensemble for Wal Mart.... at midnight! WHAT?? I frantically point to a t-shirt sitting on his dresser and yell for him to GOOOOOOO!! 

Dustbusting, yelling, Irish Jigging....baby's still in ZZZZZZZZZZZ Land. Phew! 

Waiting, waiting, waiting. Where's Tony?? I hear the text message. I read the text message. 

"Pulled over." 

Murphy's Law has struck again. 15 minutes later, here he comes with ant traps and spray in one hand, citation in the other. We change the sheets, surround ourselves with traps, and hop into bed. Only this time, I'm sleeping on HIS side of the bed in the event the ants have a National Guard that steps in when the full timers have been defeated. Alas, the sleep we've been needing for over 24 hours has arrived. We pass out sans wink-winking.

"WAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!" Harrison requests room service. So much for rice cereal. Murphy's Law is too busy marching three by three, hurrah, hurrah. 

Only, nobody's stopping to climb any trees. Damn ants.