The Horror

It took me a while to figure out where it was coming from. I would hear it, and I'd look around, and it would stop. Then, because I have the attention span of a mosquito (or something) I would forget what I was looking for. It was yesterday afternoon while sitting with the bun in my lap that days of strange chittering and screeching were revealed to be a far greater horror than I could ever imagined: the little boy is grinding his three little tiny teeth together.

Now every time he does it I can feel my skin crawling and the hair rising on my neck. And sadly, he doesn't speak English yet, so when I beseech him to stop, he ignores me. There is a fourth tooth on the way for more grinding fun.

Help. Me.

From Beyond the Grave

Really, shouldn't there be a moratorium on the number of teeth that can arrive in any two-week period? Like, no more than two? Doesn't it seem a little cruel for all parties involved to squeeze four choppers into such a small mouth in such a short time? I mean, I can hardly live on four hours of sleep a night forever. Right?

There isn't enough Tylenol in the world for all the aches this house has got.

Or wine. There also isn't enough of that.

Chew a Blue Seal

I don't have much to say these days but this: I am so tired. Plus, while the bun was in the bath, he stuck one of his toys in his mouth. My husband sang this ditty to him:

"You picked a fine time to chew a blue seal..."

You see, because the toy was a seal. And blue. Get it?

I'll be back in a few years when I catch up on sleep. In the meantime, here's a picture of the teething bun.

Look at those angry red gums! That's a pretty big grin for someone who is squeezing fangs through his flesh for the first time. You can actually see the shape of his teeth pressing through the gums.

Yeowch. That's gotta hurt.

When the shark bites

We were joking over dinner a couple days ago that the bun, being unusual, would probably sprout teeth all at once like a shark. Damned if it doesn't look to be true. He's not only getting his front bottom choppers (the customary first pearlies) but his front top as well.

This is making Operation Bun-Sleep a bit more difficult.*

*Which is to say, impossible. He woke up every hour last night, inconsolable, fidgety, miserable. Living in a shark-infested bedroom is not so easy. At least when the shark is teething.

Excuse me while I bludgeon myself back to sleep.