One of the kids at daycare bit Alena yesterday. It didn’t break the skin but there is a nasty bruise there now. Although I signed an accident report, their policy is to not tell the parents of the child bitten who did the biting. The theory being that there should be no hard feelings towards the “biter.” Admittedly, while I signed the report and Alena pointed to her arm and said “owie” I wanted to ask the teacher which one of these little bastards did it.
I opened the back door for the kids yesterday and they scampered inside, then I went back to the car to get round two of our things (grocery bag, daycare back packs). Leila started wailing. Pants halfway down in front of the toilet, she couldn’t hold it anymore. I cleaned her up and got dry clothes, and told her not to worry, sometimes accidents just happen. She was embarrassed though, and I hate that shame is becoming part of her consciousness. She told me that once when she was crying at daycare, one of the boys told her she was being a baby. My immediate reaction was to drive back to daycare and grab that kid’s parents by the collar and tell them to teach their god-damned brat some manners.
I remember going through a rough patch in junior high. My two best friends had moved away and there was no one who really filled that place in my life. My “new” group of friends were fickle and sometimes mean. They left me out, some made fun of me for this or that, they acted like real friends only to completely exclude me from plans. Anyway, I was upset one night and laying with my head on my mom’s lap, crying. She rubbed my hair and wiped away my tears with the sheet and told me it used to be so much easier, back when she could kiss the pain away.
And when the Mama Bear inside of me stands on her hind legs and roars at name calling and bites at daycare, I think about all the life that is yet to come (God willing) and wonder who it’s going to be harder on, me or them.