Sometime over the weekend, Robin decided he wanted to be a biter. WTF?
My brother was a biter. In fact, he had a t-shirt that read, "Beware, This Kid Bites" that my mother would dress him in before playdates. I suppose he had very intelligent playdates if they were reading at such an early age. He especially liked to bite our oldest friend, Michelle (wait, maybe Michelle like to bite me. Hmm, must check with mom.) I breathed a sigh of relief when Batman approached then passed the toddler biting years without incident. Robin is a pusher, shover, and wrestler with an impressive vocabulary for a two year old (and the size of a three year old, thanks to some Love genes and a touch of his dad's Hungarian side) but has never been a biter, until this weekend. Suddenly, Batman and I are covered in bite marks.
Not cool, kid, not cool.
I warned his teachers about it today, and I know they are thrilled following last week's discussion of his habit of hitting the other children. I would never have categorized him as a bully, but now that I write this down it dawns on me that my child is indeed a bully. Crap. And I'm the mother of a bully. Crap. Which is going to make me a pariah amongst the other mothers. Crap.
Oh, well, at least Batman is well liked.
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