A couple of days ago, Paul was beyond inconsolable. He screamed when he was held, and sobbed when I put him down. He appeared tired all the time, but unfortunately refused to sleep in increments longer than 10 minutes a pop.
He developed a slight diaper rash (which he’s never had), and wanted to nurse ALL.THE.TIME. Oh, and every time he nursed, he bit me, which we’ve established is totally uncool.
And then it happened, he developed a fever of around 101 degrees, which I know is totally mild, but a fever nonetheless.
I knew it. He was coming down with the flu and my whole family was about to get sick. Or worse yet, he’s been infected with the West Nile Virus. Since we had been outside the night prior, Paul did have a couple substantial bug bits on his leg. We live in central Indiana, and West Nile is currently the new plague.
So that night, put him to bed around 8pm, and even though he slept soundly, I got up twice (because I was paranoid) to make sure his fever didn’t upwardly spiked.
But then, the next morning, as I was feeding him his breakfast, we received a concrete diagnosis.
As I attempted to shovel an unwanted scoop of apricot puree into his mouth, he threw his head back in protest, opened his mouth wide to wail, and there it was. No doubt about it, my little buddy was working like a mad dog, cutting his two front teeth.
Hot, puffy, and completely inflamed.
How on earth did I miss this? Clearly, I was off my parenting game.
And I knew teething was rough, and I also thought I was well versed in the signs and symptoms to keep a close watch on. But friends, it’s never been this tramatic. And I’ve never felt to sorry for my little buddy.
But it has to be done, the teeth must come in. I’ll take teething over the bubonic plague any day of the week.
And as a reward, I think I’ll cook him up a medium rare filet mignon for dinner tonight. Because, we’ve earned it!
More Babbling from Emily…