This was a mistake, I told myself.
I’d been ritually repeating that phrase for the eight weeks I’d been pregnant, as the morning sickness became increasingly unbearable. Did cancer patients feel like this, I wondered, as though their bodies had been hijacked by malignant cells? Immediately ashamed of the thought, I still couldn’t escape the feeling that I’d been invaded by a 1.23 cm thing with two arm buds and a pumping heart. The yolk sac I saw on the first ultrasound, attached to a roundish nub the doctor said was the baby’s head, looked like a halo.
My Two-Year Old Bites and Hits. But That Doesn’t Make Him a Bully.
October 11, 2018
Sam’s my second child, and he’s a tornado. He walked at 10 months and climbed the bunk-bed ladder a few weeks later. He’s physical and strong-willed, much more so than our older son, Leo, who’s 9. Leo never hit anyone except sometimes me. By the time he was 3, his verbal skills were sharp, and if Leo got whacked by his friends, often he had provoked it by needing to have the last word. But distracted parents on the playground don’t always see the lead-up. They raise their heads when a blow is landed, and the hitter is instantly labeled: That’s the bad kid, we all think. Or, perhaps: That’s the bad parent.