The screaming, the thrashing, the whining, the complete meltdown explosion. It caught me by surprise. Yes, I had noticed my babies getting more cranky over the past few days, but I figured it was letdown from our vacation ending, tiredness, maybe a growth spurt causing hungriness. I never in my wildest dreams would have anticipated the striking and startling hour-long tantrum that was in store for me yesterday morning.
I don’t even remember how it started. It rose so quickly and became so intense within seconds, it seemed as if my life had never been different, that I’d always had a wailing toddler kicking, biting and rolling about by my feet, that I’d always been trying to hug, console, talk to or otherwise coddle this whirlwind of emotion.
I couldn’t get her to talk to me. I couldn’t get her to even attempt to explain what the heck had happened to set this off. She was beside herself. Literally out of her mind. And I was quickly getting there.
Is it food? Would you like more breakfast? Your bear? Do you want Bear? No. How about a drink? Do you have to use the potty? Baby, are you sick? Do you want a hug? Hell, no! What can I do for you? For the love of anything holy, tell me, what can I do for you?
All at once I felt helpless, overwhelmed, broken. I felt sympathy for my daughter, but, not understanding what could possibly be wrong, I felt mildly annoyed, too. I know well enough by now that these were not cries for show. She wasn’t acting out for attention. Something must really be wrong. But, baby, you can talk now. So, talk! Tell me, please. Tell me.
Finally, she calmed down on her own. She still wouldn’t tell me what the whole thing was about. I tried to talk to her about it, and she was all, “I don’t even know to what you are referring, my good lady.” (My babies never leave a participle hanging, you see. Haha.)
It was only a good 30 minutes later, when I was feeding them a snack that I found the problem. There in the back of her mouth was a bloody little patch on one side with four little points barely breeching the surface.
Remember when I told you it was always teething? I’d forgotten my own advice. It is always teething.
Damn you, foul teeth! Are you not done with us yet? How long must this go on?
It’s my own fault for assuming they were done with this unending phase. Silly me, thinking that the molars that came in when they turned two were their two-year molars. No, no. Those were the one-year molars.
Can anyone tell me who thought it would be a good evolutionary move to have humans develop teeth in such a way that knife-like bone split up from the gums for years and years and years? Slowly? One at a freaking time? Intelligent design? I don’t know about that. Seems cruel and unnecessary.
But, I am comforted. I know that this time, they are done for real. This will be the last time they have to deal with enflamed mouths of pain.
Oh wait, no. Because then the teeth fall out and we get to start again. I ask again…who came up with teething? I need a word with their supervisor.