Wednesday, April 14, 2010

Now I know how Brutus felt. Kinda.


At dinner last night, Little Miss Generous offered me a piece of asparagus from her plate (she must love me because she loves asparagus), and I, warmed by her gesture, happily obliged. When she placed it in my mouth, I bit down, but since she didn't let go, I bit down a little harder and tugged at it - Little Miss does enjoy a little game of tug n war. Except she wasn't smiling. In fact, there was a look of astonishment in her eyes, replaced quickly by one of distress. Then it registered. It wasn't the asparagus that I caught between my teeth, it was her finger!

The tears and ear-splitting crying followed a second later. When I assessed the damage, there was a mark of white amid the pink of her tiny, fragile finger where my teeth were. I can't believe I bit my own daughter! I, her mama, her protector, her lullaby singer, her belly rubber, her boo-boo kisser, her blueberry provider, bit her.

What hit me hard wasn't that I hurt her, because accidents happen all the time, I get that, but it was the reaction on her face that shook my core. The one of confused shock on her innocent face, almost as if I had betrayed her; one that said, "Why mama?" not unlike "Et tu Brute?". The wailing that resulted from it was unequivocally a "WTF mama!".

But that look...I never want to see it again.


(Yet, who am I kidding? Really? ... She did get over it quickly (after a million smooches and apologies from me) and offered me another piece. Toddlers this age must either have a short-term memory issue or are not quite up to the task of learning their lesson. Either way, more asparagus for me.)
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