Tuesday, 21 March 2017

Teeth be the root of all evil.

So, you know I said that the sleep was better and that  sleep training had been quite successful? You remember I said that, right? Hmm. Well, that was pretty much the kiss of death on that one. As soon as I opened my big mouth a huge, sodding, evil molar started to protrude from the top gum. Oh hip ruddy hooray. 
Teeth, they are indeed the root of all evil. It's a really shit design fault in the evolution of babies and toddlers. We have been dealt a particularly bad hand when it comes to teeth. I was told by lots of well meaning folk and my mother in law, that they come in pairs and there is an exact order so there should be gaps in pain and general trauma. Cobblers, I tell ye, cobblers! My daughters teeth have been all over the ruddy shop, have all come one after another and have caused maximum distress on me and her. I have lived through each and every one. I take some of the credit for those enamel bastards. The first ones meant an entire Christmas breastfeeding all night on the floor of my mothers study, which is not large, walloping my assets over the side of the Sleepyhead pod. Also, Ewan the dream sheep ran out of batteries at one point so there was a major meltdown from me and the small one. You can't get triple A's on Christmas Day.

 We have had all nighters, diarrhea down the leg, diarrhea on the beige carpet, vomiting in the cot from over zealous finger chewing, refusal to eat anything but an Organix corn snack, truly ratty behaviour, crap naps and very sore nips from feeding round the clock. Her room looks like a scene from Wolf of Wall Street, as it's covered in white powder from sachets of teething granules being strewn around the room in the dark.
In many ways, when I was breastfeeding, teething was much easier. I knew the score. Lots of feeding to sooth, followed by an hour and three quarters on my shoulder, pacing the flat in the early hours as the fecker cut through. No probs. Now, post breast feeding things aren't quite as simple. At least now there's some vocab so my daughter can communicate if she needs Calpol/Nurofen/ Nielsen's granules. But there is also the screaming and the need for Mummy in the room all night. She calls out for me too so if I don't go in, it means I'm a total git. And molars are big muthas. Her bottom back ones have been threatening to come through since October. Apparently the bottom ones come through first but oh no. In true small person form, the top ones are having a crack first.

I blame a lot on teething. Bad sleep, bad behaviour, Brexit...Trump. I use it as an excuse for everything. "Oh, I've not cleaned the bog because small one is teething." "I drank all the Malbec as we were up all night with teething." "I didn't brush my teeth today because of..." you get the general idea. And the thing is you never really know if they really are teething or not, especially under the age of 18 months. My daughter has now realised that Calpol is well nice so asks for it at every available opportunity. And I don't blame her. It is 'well nice'. I was never given Calpol as a child as my Mum was a nurse and thought that Actifed was the way forward. I think it's since been banned. (Might explain a lot.)
 So, the teeth have caused all sorts of strife in our household. I truly believe that once all of these teeth are through that order will be restored in the world. World peace will finally sweep across the land, we shall have restful slumber every night and the cellulite hanging off my arse will magically melt away. But as my husband said, there'll be something else. Oh yes my friend, I'm sure there will...

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