Sorry for the lack of unoriginality of the title but really, there’s no beating around the pun in this case, we are in survival mode in the Woolf-(husband’s last name here) household for fair Fable is teething her ass off.
It’s amazing how much you forget in the three-plus years of parenthood. I don’t remember ANYTHING I feel like. And if I hadn’t recorded Archer’s entire babyhood on my blogs? I’d be completely in the dark so I don’t know how you blogless people do it — remembering how to deal with teething and sleep issues and everything else.
I’ve been hesitating The Great Teethe but only because so many people have been asking if she’s “teething yet.”
“Oh, shit!” I thought, “No. Does that mean… Is it soon? Will she be teething soon?”
“Any day,” said so many people. “Any day.”
And then Wednesday night, in the middle of Passover Seder at my grandparent’s house, Fable’s teeth decided to be a bunch of assholes and push through. So I spent the entire three hour ceremony with my boobs in Fable’s mouth, which sucked because I love dipping the Parsley in the tears of the chosen people.
Fable takes a break from boob and bites a spoon
So there she was, screaming out in pain and me feeling like I was going to have a panic attack because there is nothing worse than a crying baby when there is nothing you can do to make her feel better. Sad face.
Of course, every night since, Fable has been fussing and biting and chewing and gnawing and sucking and, well, crying, which is heartbreaking to hear because until now Fable has seldom cried at all. It paralyzes me, her sadness. It makes me want to punch some lights out.
Thankfully, I have found several objects that seem to be helping Fable’s teething somewhat (not including my boobs and cold spoons, as pictured above). Breast pads, it turns out, are awesome for biting on and so are wash-cloths, burp cloths and bottle nipples.
Things that aren’t helping Fable’s teething? Teething rings.