Plight.

I never wanted to be a stay at home mom.

Just to be clear — this isn't going to be one of those "motherhood has changed me forever and suddenly I can't imagine doing anything more fulfilling than staying home with my child" posts, because that's not how I feel. Of course there are many times I would love to stay home to play with and snuggle Calvin all day long (totally unrealistic, he's not a snuggler). But there are also days when motherhood makes me want to run screaming from my house and straight across town into the peace and quiet of my office. Which is neither peaceful nor quiet, but sometimes the insanity of work is preferable to the insanity of parenting a 14 month old. At least my coworkers don't throw food (Tantrums, yes. Food, no.).

Besides, I like working. I need to work, for reasons both financial and personal. I need to see adults I'm not related to every day. I need to have a reason to get dressed in something other than sweats every morning. I need to challenge myself, think critically, and accomplish something on a daily basis that's not related to our home or family. Working allows me to do all of that, plus pay our bills.

But lately I just can't shake the feeling that this is all wrong.

The other night Nate and I went out for a quick dinner together. I was quiet and spacey, so he asked what I was thinking about. My response? "I hate my job." Which isn't even true. Sure, it can be quite frustrating, but all in all I have a pretty sweet gig — great hours, decent pay, good friends, the ability to wear jeans. There are plenty of perks to make up for the less than stellar parts of my job. So, no. That wasn't it. I don't hate my job.

What I hate is that me working means giving someone who is not me the responsibility of parenting my son.

As my Facebook friends know all too well, and as you may have noticed from recent posts, we are having some challenges with Calvin. I'll put it bluntly: My kid is the biter. He's also the screamer, but that seems to have improved a bit in recent weeks, and is less worrisome overall since screaming does not cause physical harm to other children. But for the past few weeks there's been a note on his sheet nearly every day: "Calvin bit two kids today" or "Calvin bit another child today — this time he broke the skin."

I can't even describe to you the feeling I get in my stomach when I read that. It makes me feel physically ill. And has brought me to tears more than once.

I am now going to go all defensive mommy on you and insist you understand that my child is not badly behaved. Or mean spirited. Or living in a home without rules, boundaries, and discipline. He is loving and sweet and wonderful. He is also one, teething, and testing every boundary we set.

It's normal behavior. I know that. My daycare provider knows that. I'm sure the other parents know it, although it has come to my attention recently that they are beginning to take issue with the daily reports saying their child has been bitten by another. I can't blame them, I would be wondering what the heck is going on and why the biter's parents aren't doing something to address their little piranha's behavior.

I wish I knew how to address it. I'm embarrassed, frustrated, and at a loss for answers.

We're working with our daycare provider to find a solution — your input and ideas are welcome, by the way — but, overall, I feel very helpless. Other than one incident at his birthday party, Calvin hasn't bitten anyone in front of us. And there's not much I can do to curb behavior I'm not witnessing.

Which I HATE. I hate that I'm not the one working with him to find other ways of expressing his frustration. I hate that I'm not there to teach him to be gentle with his friends, as I taught him to be with our dog. I hate that all day long someone else is reinforcing his good behaviors and addressing his bad ones.

I hate that such important tasks — tasks that will help shape and mold his character — fall to someone we pay to care for him 45 hours a week. The bulk of his awake time.

I trust our daycare provider. But I'm his mother. I should be the one teaching him right from wrong. I should be there to tell him not to bite, to be gentle, to be kind to his friends. I should be there to hug him after he looks at me with shocked, sad eyes for being scolded. I should be there to apologize to the children he bites, and their parents. I should be there to comfort, to redirect, to teach.

I should be there.

Instead I'm here. At work. Doing something I have to do, for now, but also that I want to do. All while someone else tries to keep my child from sinking his teeth into another.

I never wanted to be a stay at home mom. But I'm beginning to understand the appeal.