In addition to this fascinating and entertaining lil blog of mine, I also keep a journal of Little King David’s memorable moments. I jot down all kinds of memories in there, like funny things he says and his favorite food of the week. It’s nothing fancy, just a sentence or two here and there. It’s not at all a daily account of his life, but it will be enough for me to cry over on the day he leaves home for college.
Last night, I added another first to his journal. David was bitten for the first time on the playground at daycare yesterday. He didn’t bleed, but he had a clear impression of his buddy’s teeth on his forearm when I picked him up hours later.
The teachers were frantic since they had reason to believe that I’d be that mom that would cuss them out for not watching my kid better. Despite the fact that I am choosy about the foods they feed him and insist that they apply sunscreen before he goes outside, I don’t really feel that I am that crazy, off-the-wall mom. I don’t want my kid eating cupcakes as a daily snack and he’s paler than Casper the Friendly Ghost, so a little skin cancer prevention is warranted in our case. Despite my overprotective nature, I do understand that every toddler bites at some point in time. I knew when he transitioned to the toddler class that it was only a matter of time.
Although I didn’t freak out about it, poor little David was distraught over the bite mark all night long. Every fifteen minutes, he would point to his arm, and exclaim, “Bite it! Lincoln! Bite it, Boo Boo!” Although the teachers didn’t tell me who the offender was, after listening to him whine about his arm all night, I assumed it was his good ol’ wrestling buddy, Lincoln.
Nope, it was Tyler.
Now I’m wondering why a kid that speaks like he has a mouthful of marbles can pronounce “Stinkin’ Lincoln” but not “Tyler?”
(if you talk to a toddler on a daily basis, you understand)