Hey, molars! You suck.
Even now, I just ran upstairs because he was crying in his crib, but I stopped outside his door. What could I do for him? Nothing. I don't have a magic soothing touch to make it better. That's one of those great lies you discover when you become a mom.
I breathed silently, listening as his frustrated cry was defeated by sleep. An entire
evening week of orajel, ibuprofen, teethers, and it isn't getting better. What haven't we tried? Baby dentures?
I remember commiserating over my teething infant with
Angela, who said, "Wait until molars." I get it now. It turns out we spend a large portion of our second (and third) year on this earth in horrible pain. This explains a lot.
In other news, my husband ran a half-marathon because, *shrug*, why not? One of his best characteristics is his ability to follow through, even when he does little or nothing to prepare. He started a new job today, too, *shrug*. After a few weeks with him as a stay-at-home dad, now we have to get used to being single parents all over again. While Fletch is getting his first molars. Yippee.
Fun.
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| He eats an ice cream cone better than I do. |
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| sweeper |
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| is the carpet clean yet? |
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| all right, let's vacuum! |
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| it puts the lotion on its skin |
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| rare moment of happiness |
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| at the park |
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| hi, daddy! |
End Note: Between Fletcher and I, we managed to wear three different states on our T-shirts in these pictures. Weird.
