The Biter

I arrived to pick up my baby girl from toddler school a few weeks ago and was asked to review and sign an incident report.   I laughed, “Incident? What kind of incident?”  I was picturing toddlers being cuffed and stuffed for driving the big wheels too fast on the playground. 

I was told that my daughter and another child had been in an altercation over a toy which had led to teeth bearing and biting.  I immediately sobered up and sheepishly asked if my daughter was the offender or the victim.  They looked at me like my hair was on fire when I let out a big sigh of relief when they told me that my daughter had been the victim.  

I laughed nervously and quickly explained that NO ONE wants to be the mother of the biter.  Being the mom of the biter is the worst.  It’s like you achieve instant pariah status.  It’s like Chuckie trying to get a play date.   The whispers, the weak attempts at “Hey there,” the pitiful looks, the wide berths on the sidewalk and definitely no play dates. 

A few years earlier my oldest son had bitten a kid.  Admittedly, it appeared to be self-defense, but no one remembers that sucker punch that turned my sweet little boy into a blood thirsty vampire when he grabbed that little punk fist and sunk his teeth right in.  He knew he wasn’t allowed to hit, but he had no idea that his next move was much much worse.   Ah, the horror when I got that phone call at work.  I can remember saying, “My son? Did what? Really?” 

Fast forward and I was thankful that I was on the other side, although when I saw the bite I was a little shocked and now determined to provide some self-defense techniques in case this scenario presents itself again.    You want to bite my daughter, well you better be prepared to take delivery of a solid elbow across your chubby little gremlin face. 

She's like the Punisher and she's coming for you, biter.