I don't love spiders, but I wouldn't consider myself arachnophobic -- killing-bugs-o-phobic captures it a little better for me. If I see a spider, I move along my merry way, reminding myself that she's probably eating and killing the rest of the creepy-crawly things for me, so in that sense, we're friends. If I could just get her outta my way without touching her...
The other day, the girls and I were at my parents' house. They both went into the bathroom to do their business and wash their hands, when suddenly Peanut erupted with what sounded like a blood-gushing shriek and launched immediately into the stop-breathing cry that occurs with the worst of injuries. I sprinted to the bathroom and found Jellybean speechless and looking a bit dumbfounded while Peanut continued to gasp for her breath between sobs. There was no blood or missing teeth, so I implored Peanut to tell me what was the matter. She struggled to get one syllable out between each sob, so that when she pointed and I followed her finger and deciphered "spi....." SOB "...der," I figured it out. There was a spider sitting on the edge of the bathtub. And she wasn't hurt, she was just...arachnophobic. Wow. To be fair, it was a pretty big spider, and it caught her off guard. So I acknowledged her fear and we moved on (when I got my mom to remove the spider, natch).
Until a couple days ago. I sent Peanut up to her room to get a book for us to read. She was singing to herself, climbing the steps in her little 3-year-old world, when suddenly I heard that blood-gushing shriek and crying. I rushed up the stairs, afraid she had fallen on them. Instead, I found her pointing to a spider dangling from the handrail. Definitely arachnophobic. Not just a one-time deal. Never would've seen that one coming from Peanut.
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