what a softy

There goes any hopes I had of my husband - the drill sergeant, the brave, intrepid hunter, the man's man - being the main disciplinarian in the household.

I thought perhaps, given my husband's potent combination of virility and machismo, I would be able to coast by being the good cop while he manfully instilled the qualities of discipline and fortitude into our young son.

But alas, it is not to be. Let me set the scene that will explain how I came to this realization:

Drew and I are on the couch, wrestling. Well. I'm wrestling. Drew is squirming and giggling.

We're having a lovely mother-son bonding, when suddenly I feel a sharp, needlelike pain in my right breast and, before I quite catch my breath, I realize that my very toothy son has nipped me...right on the bosom. I've no doubt he thought it was a sign of affection - there was no aggression or anger apparent - but damn. He bit me hard on a very sensitive portion of my anatomy.

So, recovering admirably fast for someone whose boob has just been chewed upon, I scooped up my little vampire, deposited him on the floor, leaned over, and in what probably sounded like the condemnation of God Himself, baritoned: "We. Do. Not. Bite." Then I left him alone on the floor and went and sat on the couch.

The tears were swift and fast. You would have thought I had sentenced him to go live with a pack of wild bear cubs. He bawled and sobbed and held his arms out to me with tears streaming down his face.

Bravely, I turned away from him and repeated my "do not bite" mantra. It took every bit of self control I had not to grab him and plant kisses all over his face and promise him that I still loved him madly and that I would never never never fuss at him again and he could bite me whenever he wanted to only please please stop looking at me like that and weeping.

Getting nowhere with me, my tearful son waddled, in his footy-pajamaed glory, into the kitchen, where my husband, who had overheard the entire drama, was finishing the side dishes for dinner.

"Charles, he's coming to you," I called. "Be brave!"

Five seconds later, the sobbing ceased.

Two seconds after that, a very sheepish-looking Charles appeared around the corner, our son's tear-streaked face resting upon his shoulder.

"You didn't," I said accusingly. "You picked him up! I thought we were disciplining him!"

"I think we ignored him long enough," said Charles.

"15 seconds was long enough?" I asked, incredulously.

"It was more like a minute," Charles retorted.

"It wasn't even close to a minute."

"He came at me with his arms held up and he was sobbing and his breath was hitching and he looked pitiful! Pitiful! It was horrible!"

"You're a gigantic wuss."

"I think he used a mind ray on me. Seriously. I had no control over my actions."

"I'm going to have a bruise on my boob from your son's gigantic teeth. This is not the time for you to go all soft and mushy."

"Drew. Your mother no longer loves you. But don't worry son. Daddy's here."

Comments

[Mom]

OUCH!!!!! The problem is, he does not know what he did! Just that you were suddenly mad at him!

[ebeth]

Was that the first time he's bitten you? If so, then I'd probably let him off with a warning. Repeated biting would then incur more discipline. Not judging, just chiming in with unsolicited advice! :)

[Amy]

No, it wasn't the first time.
It was definitely the hardest he'd ever bitten me, but he's been occasionally biting both me and Charles for a couple of weeks now.
He hasn't done it at daycare yet, thank God; I'm trying to stop it before it gets that far!
:)

[Charles]

You didn't see his little face!! I HAD to pick him up or he probably would have died right there from a broken heart...I was all he had left!

[rina]

oh - my - god! that sounds like a day in my house! in fact, my son bit me just this morning... on the arm, not the boob.

very funny post.