Your Daughter Just Bit Me
“I’m sorry to bother you, but your daughter just bit me.”
I immediately do that thing I always do, where I pretend to be looking at my phone but move CLOSER to the argument to get the best seat in the house should these two kick off and fly into a frenzy of face-slapping, hair-pulling chaos.
When I do turn around, I’m rather surprised to see two practically identical-looking women freeze-framed in that awkward moment that all parents have when their small children draw them into a confrontation. And off we go…..
“Molly? Are you sure?”
“Yes: she came up and tried to take my son’s sandwich, and then – when I stopped her – she bit my finger.”
“Well, she IS only three. Where is she?”
Now, for me, that question said it all. The fact that it even needed to be ASKED was my bone of contention. I know parenting is hard: my wife and I do it every day, but seriously, when you go to a soft play area, for the love of mercy keep at least HALF an eye on your children.
“My son is three,” says the first woman, now visibly holding her calm. “Look, I just thought I should say something in case she goes off and bites someone else.”
“Okay, thanks for telling me. When she comes back this way, I’ll have a very serious word with her.”
With that, Molly’s mum sits back down and continues the in-depth conversation she has going with her two immaculately dressed friends: no stranger to a hair straightener, any of them. Fair weather mums, I call them… but then, although I pride myself on being a good dad, I am also a complete bastard.
At that point, an announcement goes off: “Can parents please ensure that their children do not climb UP the slide. Thank you.”
I look around, and – even though I’ve never laid eyes on little Molly – I immediately know that the distant curly-haired shape slipping and scrambling halfway up the big slide is Molly. She’s going to get hit, too: a boy who looks about ve has started to come down the slide and is trying to stop himself from picking up speed in an effort not to hit her. He doesn’t manage it, cannons into Molly and sends her flying. She bursts into tears and starts rolling around on the floor at the bottom of the slide.
I look back at the completely oblivious mother….and then make a very definite and determined decision. Shaking my head and muttering (PG-rated) obscenities, I hoist my own baby daughter under one arm and march over to the bottom of the slide enclosure, where I reach down to help Molly back onto her feet...
…which is when she bit me.
