Mouseketeer

Last night, I saw a mouse in my house.

It was around 3 AM, and I was finishing up my overnight parenting shift (I cover bedtime to 3 AM; Jill wakes up to pump from 3 - 3:30 or so, and then she covers through the rest of the morning). I only saw the mouse for an instant as it scampered under a kitchen cabinet. I yelped in surprise, but then finished my various tasks before going to wake Jill up (though the yelp probably already accomplished that).

And then I just melted down.

I don't know what came over me. I didn't want the mouse in the house. But I also didn't want to hurt it, nor did I want the responsibility for getting rid of it (a responsibility which, in my eyes, ran an intolerable risk that I'd hurt it). I was terrified that I was going to injure or harm it in the course of trying to catch and remove it; or that if I didn't succeed in catching and removing it the mouse would never be out of the house. And the entire thought process just made me come entirely unglued. I was crying in the bathroom in a state of complete panic; I actually wanted to flee to a hotel. It was ridiculous.

Now I'm trying to work out what background neurosis is actually operating here. I've always been a sensitive sort -- one of my major childhood trauma stories centered on a caterpillar I accidentally ran over with a garbage can I was pulling inside. And I've always found mice to be inordinately cute (my second-grade play was "Of Mice and Mozart", though I actually did not play the role of a narrator-mouse).

But I think what's mostly going on relates, of course, to my own baby. On the one hand, it is extra important not to have a mouse running around the floor when one has a baby who's main daily activity is lying on a playmat on the floor. What if the mouse scratches the baby? But on the other hand, small, cute, and adorable are the main characteristics of my baby, so the idea of harming (or being responsible for harming) something small, cute, and adorable is one easily liable to psychological projection. I suspect that there's a deeper layer of stress about parental responsibility and keeping our baby safe and protected in an unpredictable world, but I don't think I need to dig any deeper on that.

Anyway, I researched humane traps, which helped (though the descriptions were often juxtaposed against nightmarish accounts of glue traps, which very much did not help). And Jill -- who after seeing me fall to pieces last night agreed to take point on this project -- contacted a pest control service to stop by (we need it anyway, as we've long had an ant problem). I also found the hole it came through in the kitchen and stuffed some steel wool into it, so hopefully that serves as a stopgap. 

It's going to work out. But man, that was an unexpected emotional rapids ride I went through.

(Also, Jamelle Bouie followed me on BlueSky right as I was working through all those emotions. It was a lot).