Before Whoozyerbaby made HER VERY GRAND ENTRANCE into our family-- therein was this intense exclusive maternal bond which focused itself on just Whoozyerkid and me. Ardorous, fierce, protective, enveloping...I thought there was no way I could love another child the way I loved Whoozyerkid---with her sweet face, her Daddy's eyes and lashes, her perfect little mouth; so feisty, stubborn and smart and yet so tender...
I was dragging my feet about the birth of Whoozyerbaby... to the point where I think I almost pretended that labor wasn't around the corner even when small contractions came with more frequency and I remember thinking hours before--when Whoozyerdaddy and I were curled up in the bed watching The Soup that I felt just a wee bit strange. But no...it was something I ate. I wasn't ready, I thought, to spread my love a little thinner across a larger surface. So...any small contractions or stomach-ache were poo-pooed and I slipped into sleep.
Yes, Whoozyerkid and I had an exclusive relationship. The world stopped for us. It. Took. A. Lot. to get her to accept that Whoozyerdaddy was her "go-to" person for just about everything---from a cup of milk to the nighttime bath he was her guy. He had to be. I had coddled her--had selfishly stolen so many precious moments under the cloak of maternal duty. Whoozyerdaddy is one of those men who needs a lot of alone time--programming is his passion-- so I used that to keep my daughter close to me. But those last months before the baby I let go little by little to pave the way for our new arrival.
So--to honor that old relationship, to make my daughter feel special and to maintain that bond I like to carve out time just for Whoozyerkid and me. This time (and last time)--we got our nails done. Today, she had the works, the granddaddy of all kid mani/pedis---the Princess pedicure--during which she was the recipient of a crown and painted daisies with glitter and rhinestones on the thumb and big toe nails.
After this ten fingered and toed hoopla we trekked in the Odyssey to Chow to pick up some dinner to take home. I stood at the counter to pay for dinner (and a well-deserved bottle of chardonnay for Whoozyerdaddy and I) while keeping an eye on Whoozyerkid---she's too far away so I beckoned her back to me--I turned to sign for my food when...
I felt a jabbing pain under my jeans-- on my behind.
Whoozyerkid thanked me for a very nice afternoon by biting me in the ass. CHOMP! I kept my cool, avoiding becoming one of those parents who swat their kids publicly--especially in the affluenza-infected town of Lafayette (no one ever tells you that the instinct to smack someone who HURTS you at the very moment you are VIOLATED is so very strong --couple that with the fact that your children are the ones who 9.9 times out of 10 hurt and violate you the oh-so-generous giver and sustainer of precious life itself--which really, really sucks, the little ingrates!)
Of some comfort is this: The Child knew I was angry by the way she was ushered to the car. I kept my cool but SHE DID NOT. She DID NOT LIKE being lifted to her carseat. She scrambled down to the cheezit-littered carpet in a rage of FURY and pounced back up the carseat like a rabid mountain cat. THE DEMON SHE WAS POSSESSED BY saw to it that she BIT HERSELF leaving little red toothmarks on her soft baby skin.
Later, for your amusement (and mine) I will post a photo of the toothmarks she left (on herself, I will spare you my ass). Getting bit by you hurts, doesn't it, Kid?
And by the way, I am also truly, madly and deeply in love with Whoozyerbaby...sigh...they're extra-wonderful when they don't have teeth...