EVERY afternoon I brace myself for the day-care pick-up phone .
I normally give hubby fifteen minutes for smalltalk with all the educators and time to strap that our boy in his car seat until I call him for a run down of their day.
It normally involves testimonies of our kid having pushed over a kid stolen or stolen another child’s afternoon tea whilst they slept.
Or my favourite — he’d a excellent day without a to record.
On this particular day , we happened to be home therefore that we picked bub.
As I approached the infants’ room I could see our little boy happily playing with other kids. But as I came in, his educators came up to me — one carrying that dreaded yellow piece of paper — the incident report.
‘Oh ,’ I thought. ‘What’s he achieved now!?’
And so one of his educators broke the news:’We experienced a bit of an incident today, involving biting’.
I instantly thought my son had bitten another child and was dreading how to deal with it.
But it was the opposite.
It was my little boy who was bitten.
And clear as day was the distinct outline of a little person’s mouth on his left arm.
The incident report said our son and another child were playing when my son put his arm out in front of the other kid and the kid latched on.
He was immediately comforted and an ice pack applied.
He was totally fine. Didn’t even bother him a bit by the time we picked him up.
I gave him an extra tight cuddle — my way of apologising for typecasting and prejudging him.
I instantly thought my son was the biter. That he was the aggressor. What a horrible mother. One thing one of his educators said still plays on my mind. ‘It’s a Catch-22 isn’t it?
Could you rather him are the biter or the 1 bitten?’
Whilst my answer has been I had been relieved he wasn’t the biter.
I’m not certain the way I would have coped when I had been told he humiliated a child.
I won’t ever find out. But it is likely that it’s certain to occur.