I Hate Child Abuse
I picked up my grandbaby at daycare today. I know the little babies because it’s a very small group. One of my favorites is Erin. She’s about a year old with beautiful auburn hair, brown eyes, and dimples. She always greets me with a happy smile when I come into the baby room.
Today my heart dropped and my stomach turned when I saw her precious face. There were round, quarter size, symmetrical black bruises in the center of each of her little cheeks. I immediately asked the daycare worker what happened to her face. She said, “They said she fell. They’re looking better, though.” If they looked better, I can't imagine what they must have looked like before. I’ve been upset all day. I know in my gut what happened to this child. An adult took that little face and squeezed it hard, probably because she’d been crying. There is no way a one year old could fall that hard and evenly bruise both cheeks . Even if the story of her falling was true, she would have hit one side or the other, or would have hurt her forehead or nose. I made it very clear to the worker with my face and head shake there was no way I believed that story. I also know she couldn’t disclose anything to me no matter what she thought. Rest assured from now on, I will be looking very closely at that innocent child and will call attention to anything I see on her that appears suspicious.
I hate child abuse. I hate it.