Lucy finally cut the first of the top two teeth this weekend, and the second is not far behind. I think teething is another one of those rights of passage, not only for the poor kid, but for the parents who experience the excruciating discomfort vicariously through the WHINING and the getting up multiple times a night to comfort and medicate and rock. It makes us somehow stronger, more willing to deal, more able to sort things into "Matters" and "Doesn't Matter" as we all just buckle down and try to ride this out.
Week fifty-two will live in infamy at our house as the Week of the Whine. All of a sudden Lucy turned into a toddler. She's been throwing fits because I refuse to offer her various sweet fresh fruit delicacies immediately upon her crawling through the kitchen door. And when I stop her from tearing apart the Bubba's budget/bills/paystub organizational binder (Lord even knows how she got her hands on that one). And these, um, lets call them episodes, are nothing to sneeze at either. These are throw-yourself-around fits. They are launch-things-at-your-mother fits. I'm just not mentally prepared for my sweet little gives-me-kisses and needs-play-breaks-for-cuddles baby to be the fit-throwing toddler yet.
The Whine has been monumental. It is now the status quo. Oh, there is laughter, and babbling, and humming still. Oh yes. However, any dead space between any of those sounds is now filled with the Whine. A constant drone of "Eeuuuuuuuhhhhhhh" to add to the soundtrack of our day.
I'm hoping it has a lot to do with the teeth and a little to do with her age. Like I said, the one tooth has cut through, and the corner of the second is just ready to break the gums. I even bought some oral topical analgesic to use in tandem with acetaminophen thinking it might get us through this alive.
We WILL make it to week 53. (This, too, shall pass.) We will.