Biting the hand that feeds you

This is the first (but certainly, not last) time I have ever started a blog post having absolutely zero idea what I'm going to write about. And although I feel the creative juices dancing around, a few things are working against me in churning out a goodie: first, I am sitting in the playroom with Max clamoring up at me. I am in a chair, legs tucked up like I'm mid- cannon-ball and my laptop resting up on my collarbone so that my son can't get  his oatmeal fingers on the keys. I could probably lick the screen right now, true story.

I also made the mistake of playing one round of "peekaboo" with him by pulling down the back of my laptop at random intervals. If you are a mother (or someone who has ever babysat), you see the mistake in that sentence. There is no such thing as one round of anything with a toddler.

The thought crossed my mind to wait until Max takes his first nap to sit down and blog. But that's when Mommy gets to shower - though ironically, my clothing choices for the day will parallel exactly what one might wear when nixing a shower. Sigh. "Cotton tees and shorts really do take errand comfort to the next level."

So, please bear with me, and read my entry with the knowledge that between every few sentences, I am turning to a grabby Max, gasping like I just discovered the land of free chocolate and pointing to a toy he's seen a thousand times.

Diving right in (ahem), can I just say that 10 month-olds are bomb. They are toothy (well mine is), cherub-cheeked little rugrats who stand and clap for the smallest things because they're the biggest things to them. They laugh and repeat words and are really loving the whole cause-and-effect thing. And the cuteness factor is baby-specific, too - just as the library singalong is really kicking it into high gear, you can find one of my friend's 11 month-olds contently breathing in life in downward facing dog. But along with all the good stuff that comes with this age, we are now starting the battle against one very hallmark issue: biting.

What a tricky business. We encourage our young children to "teeth" on practically everything of the non-led variety. This is how they explore the world around them, self-soothe, or just busy themselves. We don't flinch when we notice our child gnawing on Elmo's eyeballs or the cover of "Where is My Belly Button?", yet when they apply the habit to, say, our shoulder, it's a big, fat no-no.

To that end, I ask myself daily what the best approach is to squelch the act of biting people, yet as far as toys, have at it. Admittedly, I've tried lots of techniques that I have heard do the trick over time (except the ever-popular advice of, "bit 'em back. Then they'll learn!" If this has worked for you, ok, but it's just not my jam). I can tell you now that after trying out various methods, we are still finding our groove. My favorite attempt was on the advice to "sob like they hurt you real bad!". Max bit my knee. I stopped what I was doing, turned to him and said, "Ouch, Max, that hurt Mommy!", then proceeded to bury my head in my hands and 'cry' with the feigned authenticity of a gold-digging widow. I boo-hoo'd in the palms of my hands, then looked up only to find Max grinning from ear to ear and going for round two in a fit of euphoria. If I had been the neurotic "me" of 8 or so months ago, I would have been convinced we were raising a sociopath. I would lie awake in bed at night, clutching to my husband and a flashlight and staring at the door in anticipation of it slowly opening to reveal a salivating toddler with a deviant twinkle in his eye. I'd have nightmares about shark teeth. And bear teeth. And molars and the dentist and then maybe that little basket of  dum-dums up at the front desk for after you survived your appointment, those were cute. But then more shark teeth. I might have searched Max's crib mattress for a shank.

But anyway.

Then there was the time that I simply snapped, "NO biting Mommy!" and raised my finger to him. This was quickly followed by, "NO biting Mommy's finger!"

As with creating most new behaviors, Josh and I are now banking on the concept of patience. We consistently tell him "Ouch, no biting Mommy/Daddy/insert victim here", and "kiss instead, Max, like this!" He seems to bite when he is very happy or excited, which I hear is normal. It's just that Max is always happy and/or excited, which may be slightly less than normal. At any rate, I'll let you know how it turns out - or, perhaps you'll learn for yourselves, just keep tuning in to the 5 o'clock news.

can you hear the theme from Jaws? I can.