This morning I watched in horror as my son screamed bloody murder and flung his body over his Elmo chair and onto the floor and screamed some more and writhed in what seemed like physical pain but what? I don't remember kicking him in the teeth. Oh. That's because I didn't kick him in the teeth. I did, however, tell him he could not bite my shoulder again.
It only lasted a couple minutes but I have a feeling it was just a glimpse of what is to come. My sweet, sweet boy is normal!
In the end, he got up and wanted cuddles. I reluctantly let him rest his head on my shoulder, the site of the original crime. He put his head down, then lifted it up to give me a kiss and patted my ouch-y shoulder.
Sweet, sweet boy.
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