Worst night ever—and not cause of the baby. UPDATE x2!

So I’m laying there sleeping and I get woken up by this damn cricket chirping outside on our deck (we have a sliding glass door off our bedroom that goes out onto the deck). This MF is SO loud. It doesn’t seem to be bothering my little one in his bassinet (yet) so I try to ignore it. But I’m one of those people that can’t sleep when that BS going on. So probably like a half hour passes and this dick is still chirping so loud. Like why do crickets chirp? To attract mates? Well bro clearly she don’t want none so move on.

After about another half an hour, he’s still going and now my little one is starting to stir. So at this point I’m sofa king done with this cricket. I get up and slide the door open and grab the hose and proceed to spray down my deck to get this cricket the hell outta my life. I’m spraying the deck down and this MF jumps on me!!! I am terrified of bugs so I swear my life flashed before my eyes. I swear he was going for the throat. So I do the most logical thing and whip my T-shirt off and throw it down into the yard. So now I’m standing there in all my stretch-marked, saggy titted glory praying my neighbors aren’t night owls

I run back inside and give my little one a bottle, get a new shirt and we both go back to bed. I sleep so soundly for the next about hour-hour and a half and then hubby comes home (he works nights). He comes to bed and I start falling back asleep and you wouldn’t believe it. I hear that dick cricket again! Except this time the sound is coming from my right instead of left where the door is. I’m like WTF is happening?! I get up and go out into the living room and my T-shirt is laying in a ball ON MY COUCH!

I fly back into my bedroom to my husband, I’m trying to whisper but I’m also so mad so it comes out more like Satan took over my body. “Why did you bring my T-shirt insidddddeee!?!!” The man claims he thought maybe I wet it down cause the baby spit up on it and I set it outside to dry and I’m standing there like:

Umm wouldn’t the more obvious situation be that there is a blood thirsty, horny cricket inside that shirt? Like why wasn’t this your first assumption?!

So hubby goes out there and grabs the shirt cause I ain’t touching that shit and he’s taking it back outside and he’s almost to the door and we hear the cricket again...except it’s not coming from the shirt. This butthole is now somewhere in my house.

So I’m ready to just pack my bags at this point like

Hubby talks me down and we start looking for this cricket. Of course i got my tennis racket in my hand cause i will smack a bitch if he tries to jump on me again.

So since he won’t let me burn the house down, I’m convinced we have to move. He tells me I’m being ridiculous cause it’s just a little cricket. Umm wrong..it’s a little, blood thirsty, horny, loud, dick cricket.

So now it is now almost 8:30 and we still cannot find this damn cricket! Anyone recommend any good school districts? I’m gettin TF outta here. That is currently my morning.

UPDATE!

At approximately 12:23pm, my cat found the cricket! Good thing because I was a hot second away from calling pest control. Fortunately, the cricket didn’t survive my cat’s fangs but I’m sure he’s in a better place.

I was starting to feel better until my husband causally said “what if the cricket was a girl and she had babies somewhere in the house?” So I put it in reverse and ended up right back in crazy town and I’m ready to light this bitch up

Update 2!

So omg like my life couldn’t get any weirder. My best friend came over with her 4 year old daughter. I’m sitting there telling the story to my friend and her daughter overheard and proceeds to ball her little eyes out over the dead cricket who she thinks we named “Dick” 🙄 cause of course a little kid would think that right? (Who’s bright idea was it to think I was mom material 😂). Anyway..she is just crying over this cricket “named” Dick. So my weird brain begins overthinking things and of course I think I’m an expert because of that one psychology class I took 10 years ago, I can’t let this little girl think that this is what death is—you get chewed up by a kitty and thrown in the garbage (is that where serial killers come from? IDK!!).

So my ass digs this cricket carcass out of my trash can. Thankfully his body survived the chicken parm remnants that we had for dinner the night before. So we literally have a little funeral for “Dick” the cricket.

I change his name to “Richard” on his tombstone because I can’t have this kid going to daycare tomorrow telling everyone that her godmother “buried Dick yesterday!”

Now I gotta keep this little gravesite in my backyard for this little shit cricket until my godchild stops asking about it.