It happened fast. My daughter was two and a half, we were at the playground, and another kid picked up the shovel she had decided was hers. Before I could move, she’d sunk her teeth into his arm. He screamed. The other mother turned around. And in that moment, I would have traded places with anyone on earth.

The shame hit harder than the guilt. I wasn’t thinking about the other kid’s arm — I was thinking about what that mother thought of me. I did the thing you’re apparently supposed to do: I grabbed my daughter, I made her “say sorry” (she was crying and had no idea what sorry meant), I apologized about six times, and I left the playground even though we’d just arrived. My daughter cried the whole way home. I cried a little too. Everyone lost.

Here’s what I wish I’d known then: biting at that age is not a character flaw. It’s a developmental stage with teeth. Toddlers bite because they’re overwhelmed, because they don’t have the words, because their impulse control is approximately zero. It is not a sign you’re raising a bully, and every parenting forum thread that suggests otherwise is lying to you.

The second time it happened — because of course there was a second time — I handled it differently, and it went so much better that I want to write it down before I forget.

First: I dealt with the other child before my own. I checked on him, I apologized to his parent briefly and sincerely, and I offered our contact info in case there was a mark. One apology, not six. Then I turned my attention to my daughter, instead of performing remorse for the audience.

Second: I removed her from the situation without the dramatic exit. No big lecture on the bench, no forced apology. I just picked her up, said “we’re done with the playground for now,” and we went to sit on the grass. She was too flooded to learn anything in that moment anyway — and honestly, so was I.

Third, later, when everyone was calm: I gave her the words. “You were mad because he took your shovel. Next time, say ‘mine, please’ or come get me.” We practiced it like a script. It felt silly. Two-year-olds are not famous for their scripts. But the third time a kid grabbed her toy, she actually came and got me. I nearly fell over.

What didn’t work: the forced apology (taught her that “sorry” is a magic word that ends adult anger, nothing more), shaming her in front of everyone (taught her that playgrounds are where humiliation happens), and the bite-back suggestion from my uncle (I am not biting my child, Gerald).

The phase lasted about two months. She bit three times total. The other parents at the playground survived. I survived. If you’re in it right now: it’s a phase, it’s not your fault, and the worst part — the hot-faced shame in front of strangers — fades a lot faster than you think.