Teething

Ha! Two days in a row. You didn’t think I could do it. O, ye of little faith. Truthfully, I didn’t have faith either. (See also Chris Crowe’s guest spot on Throwing Up Words.) Actually, yesterday’s post didn’t come through until 12:01 this morning, so it looks like I posted twice on the same day. Not so. Not that you noticed let alone cared, but I’m going to see this through. It appears this one will arrive a few minutes too late as well.

Today, I am thankful for four older children who didn’t really have problems with teething. Sam seems to be an anomaly for Anson children. Over the past two days he’s turned into a Jeckyll and Hyde baby between the hours of 8 and 10 pm. One minute he’s giggling like only a chunky little fuzzhead can, sending a deluge of slobber onto the last dry corner of his last dry onesie. And then…he jerks and twists and contorts his roly-polyness and suddenly he’s staring you down. Nose dripping. Slime flowing. And his attack baby instincts kick in. Those cute little enamel nubs concealed by lip and tongue and drool bury themselves into your shoulder and latch on.

And then the switch flips: Jeckyll. Then back to Hyde. And back. And forth. Back. Forth. Like Brook playing with the living room light. Until the little Tasmanian slime devil has worked himself into an inconsolable screaming frenzy. And then he conks out until morning, when he awakes and remains pleasant and plump until the next bewitching hours. It’s not really all that bad, but it sure was fun to write all those fragments.