Turns out that sweet boy above is a biter. That's right, I am THAT mom--the mom of the biter at daycare. The one I always felt sorry for and knew I'd never become. Have you seen that face? How could this be? Lately he's been biting me on the shoulder or the arm when I pick him up (but he hugs me first, so it must means he loves me). I've just been attributing it to teething (which, by the way, is what I attribute everything to...any sleepless nights, any fevers, any coughs, any crying, any strange poops...it's what new moms do), but when I picked him up from daycare the other day his teachers told me he went up to the same little boy three times and bit him. And it just so happened that each time the other little boy was playing with the toy Jack wanted. So that's good, right? That means he knows what he wants and does what he needs to do to get it. Most employers seek out those kind of people. That means he'll be successful. Plus, he's the youngest at the daycare, so he's just letting everyone else know that he will not be pushed around. Atta boy, Tiger. The fact that the day before this "incident" he bit a little girl and made her cry means nothing...he was probably just teething...And the other day when he was playing with Parker (the friend he's had his whole life) and she said "Ouch! He was trying to eat my foot," perhaps he really was hungry. Poor little fella.
In conclusion, I'm the mother of the biter. The bully. And he's only 10-months old. I just bought some biter biscuits for him; that must be the answer. And I'm off to drink a glass of whiskey.
