
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.)
(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.)