Teeth! We have teeth!
I am trying and trying to get images, but Abby’s not exactly anxious to display her lower gum for the camera. Then again, she is Abby, so she pretty much just flashes a genial smile when I wrestle with her bottom lip to get a look at the two little white bits making their way up into her mouth.
Penny was also remarkably good-natured about the whole teeth thing. We never knew, till they showed up, that they were coming, until we learned to watch for a change in her drool-volume and possibly a blip in her mood. She also got these big, black blood-blisters on her gum, though, and so far Abby seems to be spared that horror. Just teeth, showing up a little early (a few days before she hits her four-month birthday).
The story goes that my husband Randy got all his teeth at once, and early, but we can’t verify that because his parents are both deceased (and weren’t the most reliable witnesses when they were alive, poor things). Four months sounds about right to my mom, too, though with four kids, who knows if she’s remembering my teeth, or Sarah’s, or some neighbor kid’s. She did suggest stale bagels for teething, and I went her one better by saying people actually freeze them for a soothing gummy treat. (Though I should mention that hunks of bagel can present a choking hazard, so proceed with caution.)
The day Penny got her first tooth, we were out at our favorite sushi joint, and Randy felt the teeth as she gummed his finger. I felt Abby’s first tooth yesterday, as I arrived at my sister’s house for a post-Thanksgiving visit with our parents before they returned to the east coast. She was cranky and fussing to an unusual extent.
Actually, this whole visit has been a bit of a disaster for poor Abe, if I’m going to be honest. The first day, we rushed over to where the extended family was staying in a house-sit, and the minute we walked in she started shrieking. I pulled her out of the carseat and found myself holding the cutest little poop-covered baby you ever saw. And when I say she was cute, I am including the outfit, which I had selected especially to meet the new cousins and greet her public. Like, little jeans with a fabric belt and a matching shirt, plus two-toned booties and a little jacket. All of it pooped upon, and topped with the crimson face of a wailing baby.
This did not endear her to the teenagers in the room, though I assure you I saw every one of them in the same state.
Anywho. Somehow it took ten hours to get her changed out of the poop clothes, and then I realized the only spare clothes I had for her were a summer sun-dress from the week before, when it had been like 90 degrees. (San Francisco is weird in many ways, but nothing is weirder than its weather.) Mom of the year! All right, so I put her in the sun-dress and packed her in a blanket till we could get to my sister’s house, where I borrowed some spectacularly huge jammies from her seven-months-older cousin Shane.
And then? After that? She greeted my parents with poop every… single… day. They walked into my house, she burst into tears and pooped. We met at the playground: wailing and pooping. It got to where I thought I should label my mom as a diuretic and send her out to bestow her magical touch upon anyone who’s been prescribed Percocet. This morning, I was all set to go meet them when she pre-emptively pooped up her jammies so I wouldn’t have to change her outfit, the little dear.
But last night I knew her wailing wasn’t from poop – I checked. So I was jiggling her around as I waited for her to go back to her usual good humor, and stuck my finger in her mouth because my children only seem to like human pacifiers. And there it was. Unmistakable, sharp, hard – two beautiful bottom teeth.
So she’s been fussy last night and today, and eating more often (breastfeeding seems to ease the pain when the Tylenol doesn’t). But really? She’s the same old Abby, happy and smiley and giggly and huggy and warm. And now: Toothy!
When did your kids get their teeth – early or late? Did you get bit while nursing?