'He's a biter': why was my foster son reduced to a cruel label?

As soon as my wife picked up the phone I knew she was going to say yes to this next foster placement. I could see the look in her eyes. An abandoned three-year-old – that was all she heard. That was all she needed to know.

As for me, all I heard was the word “biter”. Images flashed through my mind. I saw some kind of feral hooligan, attacking my other children and scarring them for life, while I booked hepatitis B immunisations and filled out endless reports. I could already feel the pain of sharp milk teeth sinking into my thigh.

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