A Boy Momās Descent Into Madness (and Crustaceans)
There are moments in motherhood when you think, āThis is fine. This is totally normal.ā
And then there are moments when you find a crawdad crawling across your bedroom floor and question every life decision that led to this point.
Let me back up.
š It Started with a Hermit Crab
My 10-year-old son has been begging for a pet. Weāre not ready for a dog (translation: Iām not ready to deal with poop, barking, or vet bills), so we started small: a hermit crab.
RIP to that dream. The hermit crab didnāt make it a full year and letās just say the ending was very sadā¦for Drake especially.
šø Then Came Gerald the Toad
Not long after, Drake found a toad. Not just any toadāGerald.
Gerald became a full-blown winter house guest. He lived in a tank, dined on waxworms, and basically lived a better life than I did during most of winter.
He was surprisingly chill. Didnāt escape. Didnāt smell too bad. Honestly? Gerald was kind of the perfect pet.
But last week, Drake decided it was time for Gerald to āgo back to his family.ā And just like that, our amphibious tenant was released into the wild like some sort of dramatic Disney ending.
Spoiler: This is not where the story ends. This is just the warm-up act.
š The Suspicious Tank Cleaning
The next day, something strange happened. Drake cleaned the tank.
Let me repeat that: my 10-year-old voluntarily cleaned something.
I shouldāve known something was up. This child will walk around piles of laundry and eat off a sticky table without blinking. But the tank? Spotless.
Turns out, he was preparing for new arrivals.
When I came home from work, the tank was full again. Not with another toad, no. This time it was a bluegill fish heād caught at the pondā¦ and three crawdads.
Yes. Crawdads. Like little lobster-scorpion hybrids just living their best life in my living room.
And did we have a proper aquatic setup? Of course not.
No filter. No bubbler. Just some rocks and raw enthusiasm.
So off we went to the store to buy all the gear because, again, I still donāt want a dog.
š± The Escape
Everything was fine(ish) for a few daysā¦ until I stepped out of the shower one morning, wrapped in a towel, and walked into my bedroom.
And there it was.
On the floor.
A crawdad.
At first, I thought it was a scorpion. I screamed. Drake came running like it was a medical emergency. And honestly, it kind of was.
He carefully picked it up and put it back in the tank. Then he looked up at me, guilt all over his face, and said the words no mother wants to hear:
āThe other ones are missing.ā
š© Iām Not Okay
He found the second one. Yay! So itās the end of the day – they have not been allowed to leave this house and have supposedly been searching all day – but one crawdad is still missing, and Iām spiraling.
Drake has baited the house with hot dogs and ham. Iāve checked under every blanket. Weāve vacuumed, flipped furniture, and stared into every dark corner with flashlights like weāre on an episode of CSI: Crustacean Scene Investigation.
And still. Nothing.
I now live in fear. I tuck my blankets in tightly. I wear slippers in my own home. I envision it crawling on me at night. I canāt sleep. I make my husband leave our bedroom light on – fyi – heās not a big fan.
This is my life now.
š Have You Seen This Crawdad?
Part Two will come if we ever find this thing. Or if it finds me first.
If you have any tips, survival strategies, or emotional support snacks, Iām open.
Go ahead and laugh. When we find it, Iāll laugh too.
Probably.
Maybe.
Eek.
