Is it just me...or am I nuts?

A few weeks ago, I posted about this.

And I was all like:

"Kort hopes that our new pet "Manty" is a girl so that she will have babies, but I really, really hope that she's a boy because praying mantises Fa-REAK me out and I don't even want ONE ADULT one to be living in my house, let alone 700 bajillion freaky little baby ones, and I feel like a horror movie is playing out in my dining room in the middle of the night while Manty chomps (and chomps, and chomps) through a grasshopper's bony, exoskeleton-y head (while he is still alive and kicking, no less!) and it just makes me ill, and I can't STAND these creepy-crawly-hard-core-predator-bugs, but I sort of HAVE to "stand" these creepy-crawly-hard-core-predator-bugs because I am a mom of boys, and it is expressly written in the contract of moms of boys (you know the one) that you simply must be able to "stand" all things creepy, crawly, and predatory, but it doesn't mean that I have to like it, and all I'm trying to say is, I really, really, hope that this mantis is a boy, boy, BOY!"

(Yeah, it went something like that.)

{Pictured: Manty and Hopper... well, what was left of him anyway...}

So then, the Kortmeister asks if he can Puh-lease take Manty to class because they were learning about bugs. So off they go to school, and what does Manty do? Why, she lays her egg sack right in front of an entire class of wide-eyed, jaw-dropped second graders. (Guess that Manty is a girl after all. That settles that.)

Kort's dear teacher was eternally grateful...it's not every day that praying mantis just up and lays seventy some odd eggs (right on schedule) in front of an audience of seven and eight year olds, no less.

Kort was a class hero.
Score one for Manty.

So, Kort comes home positively beaming and proudly shows me what Manty did.

I proceed to freak (on the inside, of course) as visions of teeny tiny little green babies crawling through the slats of the bug habitat, and into every nook and cranny of my house, dance through my head. I run to my computer to google "gestation period for praying mantis eggs" and learn that they won't hatch until spring (phew!). As I read on, I also learn that Miss Manty's days are numbered. It turns out that praying mantises die shortly after laying their eggs.

Bummer.

I break the news to Kort.
He is sad, but in true Kortland fashion comes back at me with:

"Yeah, but we're gonna have 70 new family members next spring!"
(Always lookin' on the "bright" side, that one.)

So, we waited.

Kort would go check on Manty every morning and say:

"Mom, she's still alive!"

Some mornings, when it was really cold, she would get lethargic and seem dead, and Kort would get sad and come and tell me (through a tight, sad little throat) that he thought she was gone. Then I would go and check, and tell him she was alive, and he would get really happy and say something like:

"She's just not ready to leave our family and her babies yet!"

So, he continued to bring home grasshoppers for her.

Every day.

And he talked about the babies to anyone who would listen.

Then, on Wednesday morning, we got Kort up and ready and off to school, and I went into the dining room to check on Manty, and she was gone. She had curled up in the corner of her habitat and quietly passed away. Her little arms were in the classic "praying" position and her head was tilted to one side.

And, um, it took everything I had to keep from BAWLING!

Literally.

My throat was tight.

I was genuinely sad.

That sweet little creepy-crawly-hard-core-predator-bug done went and broke my poor, unsuspecting heart.

I officially feel like I am taking crazy pills.

The end.

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