Scene: Dinnertime, 6:30 p.m. I am standing at the kitchen counter, Husband is leaning against the sink.
Me: I swear, Claire seems hungry every hour lately. I’m chopping up some vegetables for her. [Claire is clinging to my butt, whining in hunger.]
Him: What did you make for dinner?
Me: I made chicken ratatou–ee-yOUCH!
Him: Did you cut yourself? What’s wrong? [He immediately steps over to check on me.]
Me: Claire bit me! The little rascal just bit the back of my thigh!
Him: Oh, I thought you’d cut yourself.
Me: She bit me! She bit me! What an impatient little stinker.
Him: Well, she takes after her mother. [wink]
I recall reading within the last year an article about the biting phase of childhood as having some sort of deep genetic relationship with the human animal’s instinct for cannibalism but I can’t remember where I read it.
So of course, when I read this post, I laughed out loud.
Hungry little bugger, isn’t she?
(grin)
I always figured having a kid would come back to bite you in the ass. Sounds like I was close.
(Credit Aunt LP for pointing out this low-hanging fruit.)
What a shock for you! I guess she was really hungry.
Peace!
Better get a shot!