Cutting Your Teeth

Yo, we’re wrapping up two baby milestones this week — first tooth and first barf. Both are really special for different reasons. Baby has been chewing his fingers and drooling tablespoons of drool down his shirt for what feels like years, so the claim of “teething” seemed like a crying wolf thing, you feel me? But now, truly, he is teething. I felt a small jagged edge on the bottom of his gums, and it was thrilling. Unfortunately for this kid, teething means suffering. He’s got low fever, lethargic behavior, and physical pain to grapple with. Yesterday, he threw up not once, but twice. (Stop eating now, because I’m going to go on and on about this topic.)

In the past, when he’s peed on me and performed a slurpee machine-style number two, I froze in terror. Now it seems that vomiting inspires an equal woman-of-action mode in me, which is I remain paralyzed until Husband says I ought to think about getting up or something. The first barf was momentous, a scene right out of “The Exorcist,” but starring Baby. It was truly remarkable to witness how much quantity could emerge from such a small body. We cleaned for hours.

Barf number two will always be close to my heart, because Baby threw up down my shirt. The silver lining here is we didn’t have to wash any furniture or floor, because it was all…in my bra.

Hells yeah, I went there.

Hells yeah, I’m writing entire blog entries on baby body fluids. I’m living the dream, people.

But on another note, we all just want Baby to feel better and feel thankful he was somewhat vertical for both barfing incidents, so he didn’t have to contend with choking. We can’t wait till this phase passes, so Baby can go back to being his usual sunny self. Now, I really get what “cutting your teeth” means.