It started small.
A few bites on my shoulder. I thought maybe a spider.
But then they appeared on my arms. My legs. My back.
Red, itchy welts that wouldn't go away.
My husband started getting them too.
And then... my six-year-old daughter.
That's when I broke down.
I couldn't protect her. In her own bed. In our own home.
She was scared to go to sleep. She'd cry and ask, "Mommy, are the bugs going to bite me again tonight?"
What do you say to that?
I felt like the worst mother in the world.
I tried everything:
- Sprays that made the house smell toxic
- Steam cleaners that took hours
- Traps that caught nothing
- Those "bed bug bombs" everyone swears by
Nothing worked.
They. Kept. Coming. Back.
Every night, I'd pray this would be the night they'd be gone.
Every morning, I'd wake up with new bites.
The lack of sleep was destroying me.
I was irritable with my kids. Exhausted at work. My marriage was suffering.
All because I couldn't sleep in my own bed without fear.
Then I called an exterminator.
"$2,100 for the whole house," he said casually. "But I can't guarantee they won't come back."
I hung up and sobbed.
That was our vacation fund. That was three months of groceries.
I felt trapped. Hopeless. Exhausted beyond words.