So one morning this week, the kitchen floor was mysteriously swarming with fire ants. I have no idea where they came from, or why, or how. So I put the kids out of harm's way and set about spraying all the ants with bleach water so they would die and we could have breakfast in peace.
Naturally, halfway through the cleaning process, Lottie came charging in, slipped on the wet floor, and fell into a swarm of not-dead fire ants. Obviously she absolutely lost her poor little mind. I managed to scrape them all off her before she got more than a couple bites, but she was so scared she just stood there shaking and whimpering.
We went out for donuts instead of breakfasting at home.
Fast forward several days, the floor is ant-free, we're about to go visit the relatives, and I've foolishly packed the high chair before having lunch. No big deal, thought I. Lottie can just sit on the floor and have hers as a picnic, which she usually likes. But the second her little feet touched the floor, she went completely rigid and started screaming. Picked her up, calm and jolly. Back on floor, completely petrified.
So Lottie now has kitchen floor PTSD.
(Sorry this post has no pictures - I foolishly neglected to reach for the camera when Lottie was flailing about covered in fire ants)