Teething woes

When we took Wolfie to the pediatrician for his two month check up, she searched for anything that might be causing his excessive fussiness. Her best guess, based on nothing else being wrong and his out of control drooling: Dude is already teething. I took it with a grain of salt. I mean, no way, right?

 After this past week, there is no doubt in my mind anymore. What else could turn my child from the somewhat-insufferable demon spawn that he was into the devil himself? (I'M KIDDING GUYS KIND OF.) And now that I'm looking for it, I see it. Wolfie sort of smacks his lips or stretches his tongue and then bursts into the song of his people, by which I mean he begins screaming bloody murder.

His new trick this week is one he clearly learned from me: bipolar disorder! Okay, just kidding sort of, again. He cries and cries, so you pick him up and comfort him. He's quiet for just long enough for you to think, "oh thank you Jesus," then starts crying even more frantically. You swaddle him, rock him, give him his pacifier, try to nurse him, NOTHING WORKS. So you give up. You lay him down and hold your head in your hands to cry with him, because it's the only thing left to do. After you're good and puffy red-faced, you realize something: He isn't crying anymore. No. Now he's perfectly content to lay on the couch and watch the ceiling fan spin. Until he realizes that you noticed. Cue the screaming again.

Around and around we go.

This, too, shall pass.