Mosquitoes have always loved me. Because I am sweet.
When I was five, my family moved to Southern California for the summer. There was a mosquito nest in my mattress. I think you can guess what happened.
When I was nine, my family went to Florida for spring break. Florida is a swamp, infested with mosquitoes. I was eaten alive.
Infested with mosquitoes
Do you know where else is a swamp? New Zealand. There are 16 species of mosquitoes in NZ. By this, I mean there are a lot of mosquitoes.
When I first got to NZ, Adam and I went camping. I got a couple of mosquito bites. No big deal, right?
I didn’t scratch those first mosquito bites at all. But they swelled up so much that I couldn’t walk. I had to go to bed for two days. For mosquito bites. That was before the child was born, when I could still get away with that sort of thing.
My life with mosquitoes
Apparently, the mosquitoes in NZ love my fine vintage of Northern Hemisphere blood. Or I don't have the right antibodies. I guess mosquitoes are my Kryptonite.
Now we have mosquito nets over our beds. They look beachy and romantic. And we usually keep the windows closed at night.
I bathe in insect repellent.
I have learned that it doesn't matter if I scratch the bites or not. They still get painfully swollen. As with so many other things in life, there is no need to be a martyr. I can scratch my bites until they bleed (sorry, that sounds a bit emo).
Anti-histamine is my friend. And winter. When all the mosquitoes die.
Photo credit: Te Ara
Edited to add. I'm getting invisible comment spam that I can't delete. Has this happened to anyone else?