Wednesday, September 23, 2009
For months, Cole has had a tendency to bite me. He gets excited or frustrated or maybe his new teeth are just itching to be used. I'm not sure. He just chomps on my shoulder, or that soft skin below my neck, but above my chest. Or if I'm doing dishes, he might stand between my legs, nestle his head against my inner thigh and take a chomp out right through my pants.
I've wrestled with what to do about the matter. I used to be in the bite-him-back/real-life-consequences camp about the whole thing, however, as a mom, I realize now that he's just too young. He's just doing what is developmentally appropriate. He's an oral guy. Freud would have a hay-day.
Anyway, Cole met his match on Monday. We were at the Early Years Centre and he was playing in the big plastic playhouse with a small basketball, which Cassandra (a month and a half older and a lot faster on her feet) had accidentally dropped in the window. She came around looking for the ball and Cole had it. Her mother informed me she's been "obsessed with giving kisses", as I watched her lean into Cole's shoulder. And unfortunately, I just couldn't get through the playhouse door fast enough when she decided to take a nice chunk out of his temple.
He cried, but he lived to tell about it. In fact, five minutes later, playing near her didn't even seem to bother him, leading me to suspect he doesn't have a very good memory. Either that, or he believes he had it coming. He DID after all, take her basketball. And really, crawling around the play room with a gouge out of your temple makes you look like the toddler equivalent of a bad boy. Some girls see him coming and just start to cry. Others swoon. We know how it goes.
It was an unfortunate unfolding of events.
But he hasn't bitten me since.