So, Miles comes home from preschool with a big chunk of skin gouged out of each of his soft, squishy little cheeks. I demanded to know the name of the savage beast that did this to my baby. He told me that Jenna pinched him. Jenna is a little girl in his preschool class that is at least a foot taller than him. He has a big crush on her and gets all red faced and squirrely anytime I mention her name. Upon further interrogation he finally came clean with the whole story. It went a little something like this.
"I was playing food in the kitchen wiff Jenna. I sayed I was going to play cars wiff Jace and Bryson and then Jenna pinched my face in the corner. She said I have to stay in the house with her because she is the boss of me."
My mind immediately conjured up an image of an angry wild eyed, amazon of a preschooler (Jenna), digging her sharp, dirty talons into the plump, creamy soft cheeks of my baby as he crouched down, backed into the corner. I was incensed! To say that my mama bear insticts were kicked into overdrive would be a heinous understatement. My instincts were demanding that I march over to that school, pick this little pig-tailed bully up by the collar of her Dora The Explorer shirt and shake some sense into her. Theeeen, once I was done shaking her, I would give her a much needed manicure, complete with a fresh coat of cotton candy colored nail polish. Okay, okay, I know I'm crazy. My rational, intellectual mind knows that this sort of thing happens. It's all a part of the childhood experience. But my instincts clearly didn't get the memo.
Months later he still has scars on his cheeks. This was like the toddler version of a cheesy domestic violence Lifetime movie.
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