My son had just turned two when I realized that I had already failed him as a mother. I remember very clearly thinking “I can’t believe I’ve already screwed this up. What the hell do I do now?”

The daycare had called. Again. It seemed Devin was biting the other children in class. Again. Specifically, he was walking up to unsuspecting toddlers and removing large chunks of their face with his teeth. Just… because.

Now, I am not an idiot. Obviously I did not pronounce myself a failure and my son a lost cause over a little toddler biting. That would be ludicrous.

After all, I had read that children bit from time to time. I vaguely remembered something about a need to express one’s self or communicate aggression. Something like that. My point is that the first time I heard about what the daycare administrator referred to as a Biting Incident, I did not panic.

I sat my two year old down and we had a very rational conversation. I acknowledged his need to be heard and vent his frustration. We discussed that biting was not a socially acceptable form of communication because it infringed on the boundaries and rights of others. We explored alternative ways to express anger, such as alone time and using our words. I made sure to keep the lines of communication open and spoke in very soothing tones that said “I am not here to judge you”.

I can’t imagine for the life of me why that wasn’t more effective.

Two days after The Talk, I received a phone call about another Biting Incident. At this point, I started to get suspicious.

Perhaps the adults at the daycare facility were not properly in tune with his needs. Maybe Devin had tried to use his words and no one had validated his feelings. Whatever the reason, I had raised this child and I knew he was not capable of unprovoked violence.

I refrained from saying all of this when I called the mother of his latest victim to apologize. I was determined that she would not think I was making excuses for my child. I was far too responsible a parent for anything that lazy. I stuck to assuring her that this would “never happen again. And again, Devin is very, very sorry.”

Because of course, he was. He must be.

A few weeks passed after The Phone Call and I was buoyed by the fact that we had been free from another Biting Incident. And honestly, I wasn’t surprised. The Talk: Part Two had obviously been more effective than the first. I had put a little more emphasis on alternative ways of expressing frustration the second time around – including time outs and spanking, should the need arise. I must admit, I was proud of my superior mothering. I had been proactive and involved and put an end to this little “issue” before it became a real “problem”.

Clearly, I had this parenting gig figured out.

In fact, all thoughts of the Biting Incidents had been nearly forgotten the day that we invited our friends and their daughter over for dinner. It didn’t even occur to me to bring it up as the other mother and I watched our husbands master the grill and our children run back and forth across the little wooden deck while we swapped accomplishments and anecdotes about them.

I think I was bragging about his uncanny ability to put together a jigsaw puzzle upside down when it happened.

Their little girl was beautiful. The very picture you call to mind when you think about a brown eyed girl. Her cheeks were full, her hair dark and springy as it curled from her ears to her shoulders. And those brown eyes – she could melt you into an appeasing puddle of good with one longing look from those perfectly round eyes.

Frankly, I’m not sure how Devin was able to deflect her charm. But he did. As she reached out a toy to him in a beautiful gesture of sharing, he seized the opportunity to attack. My son leaned in close, as if to hug her, wrapped his arms around her to hold her still, and proceed to rip the flesh from the side of her face.

She screamed. Oh my God did that child scream. And cried. Big, wet tears spilled all over her now lopsided face and on to her perfectly spotless sweater set.

I could have killed him. Right then and there. I’d have put us both out of our misery in one fell swoop if given the right tools and a few seconds of privacy. But of course I couldn’t do that because there was all that screaming and crying to attend to.

I don’t remember what happened immediately after that. It’s possible that I eventually saw through the blinding humiliation and packed my son up into his room for the night. It’s also possible that I sat whimpering in a corner for the rest of the evening while my husband took care of the discipline and apologies and whatever awkward small talk surely followed. The aftermath, for whatever reason, has not been etched into my memory as clearly as the attack itself.

And that God awful screaming.

What I do remember is the phone call with my mother the next day. She called to see how our much anticipated Date Night With The Other Parents had gone (because when you’re 21 and have a two year old, finding other parents who want to hang out with you is always a pretty big deal).

“So? How was it?” her voice bubbled over the line, so full of naive hope and optimism. “Did you have fun? What did you guys do? How were the kids?”

“He’s doomed, Mom! Doomed!” I was doing a pretty good imitation of The Scream myself.

“Um, hello? Honey, is that you?”

“Oh my God…” I sobbed, “I’ve ruined him. Ruined him! I don’t understand where it all went wrong! You should have seen him. He was so… so… wrong! It was so awful.”

“Baby? Honey?” I think my mother was still trying to confirm my identity in between my gulping for air.

“I don’t know what I did. But.. but… he’s ruined. Oh my God Mom, he’s going to be a serial killer. This is how it starts. We have to get rid of the dog before he starts torturing it. That’s what they do when they’re kids. Torture animals and children…”

“Britt? What in the hell…” at least she had figured out it was me.

“He tried to EAT HER! I’m going to be that woman on TV. That one that says she never saw it coming and she doesn’t know how her son ended up like this and she never saw the signs and OH MY GOD WHERE DID IT ALL GO WRONG?!?!”

I was too busy listening to the reporter in my head who was interviewing me twenty years in the future to hear my mom’s reaction. Plus, I was crying a lot. And sniffing and snorting from all of the crying. It was probably a solid two minutes before I recognized the sound coming from the phone.

“Mom? Is that you? Are you there?”

“Heeee… heeeee… yes… heeee…. Yes….. heee… I’m here… heeee.”

Oh yeah, she was there alright. And the bitch was laughing her ass off.

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