Just a Flesh Wound

I was just reading this post on no school, just learning, and instead of blogging in his comments section, which I tend to do after a couple of cups of coffee, I thought I'd post my story on my blog.

Last week, me and Josie were at the doctor's office, and he was checking her reflexes. Now this wasn't a pediatrician, but a psychiatrist, and they ask a lot of personal probing questions. I felt fairly confident that I had presented us as the relatively healthy family we are. By no means are we perfect ( who is?), but we're not dysfunctional or anything. You know, I get 45 minutes to stammer that fact out in a myriad of ways to someone I hardly know, when I really should be finding out whether this psychiatrist is familiar with Asperger's and fit to treat my kid, but I digress. Back to the reflexes. He got his little hammer out and straightened out her left arm, palms up, and there on the inside of her forearm was an oval bruise. He asked her where she got it. She replied "My daddy bit me."

Oh sheesh.

You should have seen the look on his face when he turned around.

I know my husband didn't bite her, not in the werewolf sense of the word. There's a lot of roughhousing that goes on around here. Kids get thrown all over the place. After daddy gets home, I go immediately into the kitchen and look for my headphones, because the Screaming and Squealing hour has arrived. There's no safe way to walk through the living room after 5:30 pm, without risk of being knocked on your rear by some blond child being catapulted across the room. I imagine that her arm must have been pretending to be a turkey leg or something, and Daddy must have been chewing on it. I can also imagine that there was a lot of maniacal laughter involved in this, and quite possibly an "Ow!" and a "Sorry sweetie." Who knows.

But I could just see the gears in his head. "No wonder I'm treating this kid for anxiety. Her dad bites her."

Oh sheesh.