Brad and I have been fortunate in our teething experiences with Avery. I stuck my knuckle in her little mouth one day when she was around 11 weeks old and lo and behold there were two little chicklets that were grazing the surface of her supple bottom gums. We didn't even know she was teething, let alone teething that early! She then proceeded to effortlessly bang out two teeth a month, and here we are at 10.5 months we are working on teeth number 9 and 10. The jaw teeth.
It all started with the telltale Niagra Falls of saliva. Avery left a river of drool in her wake as she motored around the house on all fours. She also proceeded to leave teeth marks in such discreet places as our coffee and end tables, the railing of her crib, and on occasion, the dog's face. Next came the ever attractive bright red cheeks and the sore bum, monstrous loose dinosaur poops, as well as the dramatic attitude. "No no, Avery, don't touch," *throws head back in anguish and sobs*
This past Friday though, I experienced what could only be referred to as the Teething Apocalypse.
Brad's best friend, Boner (don't look at me, I didn't give him the nickname), who is a pretty amazing guitar player, was playing a show with his band (They're called the White Collar Criminals and you should check them out, just sayin'). We both wanted to go but couldn't get a sitter, so I told Brad to go on and spent a wild Friday night baking cookies and watching romantic comedies while wearing flannel jammies and no bra (and loving every minute).
Around midnight I was getting ready to snuggle down when I heard Avery whining a little. Being that I was in the room across the hall, I did what any mother would do; I lay stiff as a board and held my breath while saying an internal prayer that she would go back to sleep and sleep until ten. Obviously.
Well, Mommas, I did not get my wish. Just as I was about to pass out from lack of oxygen, she burst into a wail that frightened not only me, but the dog as well. I dragged my flannel PJ'd butt out of bed, went over and scooped her up. I cuddled her close, soothed her, changed her diaper, warmed a bottle, read her a book and tucked her back in. Just as my ass hit the mattress, she started in again. The wailing, the biting of the crib, the gnashing of the teeth, etc.
I went back over, cuddled her some more, brought out reinforcements such as her special blankie and pacifier, all to no avail. She pushed away the teething rings and didn't want to hear of a cold facecloth to chew. Her gums were horrendously swollen and red and so I decided after so long that I would bust out the Tylenol.
I will take this opportunity to say that I am not a fan of Tylenol, or any meds really that are given to babies. They have tiny little livers (which will probably start suffering some damage in about 16 years), and I like to give the little livers a pretty easy time of it. I don't think a lot of people know what a lot of medication can do to your body, but over time it's not a good scene. I go with the Tylenol over others only because Advil has a tendency to be harder on little tummies, and I don't want to be dealing with sore gums and tummy troubles. F that. Also, I have it because clearly if she spikes a temp I need it, but I generally only administer it under rare circumstances, such as a late night flip-out.
So, I banged a mil of Tylenol into her, warmed another bottle, and cuddled her down in our bed for some Mickey Mouse Clubhouse and a little Mommy Love. She seemed to settle so I took her, the bottle, and the blankie and put them as a unit into her crib. Before I got to the door, devastation had engulfed her again.
It was now going for 2am.
This was about the time that Brad got a frantic text asking when he would be coming home. He took this opportunity to tell me that the band was running late. This was clearly an issue as he was getting a ride with Boner. I told him it was ok and that I could handle it.
Over the next hour until Brad came home, I broke out every parenting and babysitting tactic that I could possibly think of. I sang songs, read books, fed her, cuddled her, soothed her, used stuffed animals, played peek-a-boo, sat next to her crib in the dark while talking her down from the brink of a mental breakdown, and the list goes on. By three, we were both so worked up that I had to put her in her crib and just leave her there. It was bad.
Brad got home about five minutes later and found me up in bed, knees to chest, hair a mess, rocking back and forth surrounded by empty bottles of pills and cigarette butts. Well that might be a bit of an exaggeration. My hair wasn't that bad.
I was relieved to have someone new there to take control of the situation. We went into Avery's room together, as she was still up and attempting to gnaw her way out of her crib. In the five minutes that she was left, she managed to have a pretty impressive dump and was promptly straightened away on that front. We then took her down and had an impromptu game of 3:30am blocks. Always a treat.
By four she was showing signs of fatigue, and my eyes were bleeding. There was some eye rubbing and yawning happening so Brad and I took the window of opportunity and prepped a bottle and then put her in her crib, backing away slowly with breath held as the Jaws theme song played softly in the background. She finally went to sleep and slept till ten. It was glorious.
Luckily the next day as I was stifling sobs brought on by sheer exhaustion while simultaneously perusing the aisles at Lawtons, I found a little something called Camilia. Almost a week later though, I have begun to refer to it as "Liquid Jesus". It's a homeopathic remedy for teething and she has slept every night since I started giving it to her. If you don't believe in it, last night I forgot to give it to her and she was up twice. I won't be making that mistake again. I also bought enough to due her till she gets her wisdom teeth.
This mom is done with messing around.