On Sunday, after church, we round up the family and headed to the park for our dear friend Bentlee’s 2nd birthday party.
Upon arriving, we learned that we had just missed the drama of one of the little ones being stung by a bee.
I’m glad it wasn’t one of my kids, I thought. Especially Harlo.
I love Harlo. She has such a tender little heart and feels things deeply. Her emotions are always just right on the surface and this is something I admire about her. I thought for a moment of how she would react if she were stung by a bee. Surely it would not be a minor episode.
About 15 minutes later as I was munching on a turkey wrap and broccoli salad, I heard a cry that I was very familiar with. I looked up and one of the Dad’s of the party had my little Harlo wrapped around his body.
“Bee sting.” He mouthed to me as they got closer.
Sure enough, my sweet little Harlo had stepped on a bee just minutes after she had taken her shoes off to let the water park splash up on her legs.
Brady examined the area and assessed the stinger was still in tact. We yanked that sucker out and wrapped her little piggies in ice.
She cried good and hard for only a few minutes, which took me by surprise. Her pain quickly turned to anger as she had time to understand what happened.
“That bee stanged me!” she exclaimed. “I’m not even going to be his friend!”
After a dose of benedryl and a very numb foot, Harlo was as good as new chasing around a kite with all the other party-goers.
We survived it, I thought. The first bee sting was a milestone I was not looking forward to.
In the two days since it’s happened, Harlo has collected all the sympathy a girl could possibly collect over the story of her “bee stang.” She announced it to her preschool class, the lady at the grocery store, grandparents-a-plenty and her favorite baby sitter, Miss Kortney.
Way to make lemonade out of lemons, Harlo. That’s my girl!