Week 73- teething, puking and guilt-free Neighbours

A fundamental flaw with bodies seems to be that we’re not born with holes in our gums for teeth to grow through.

It’s massively unfair that so early on in your life, at a point where you can’t be reasoned with or explained to, you have over twenty individual teeth sawing their way through flesh.

I remember having my wisdom teeth taken out about four years ago, and I made such a huge deal about it. I had to go into hospital, was put under general anaesthetic, and woke up an hour later with a mouth full of cotton wool and blood, and a headache similar to a night on the sambucas.

But on the plus side I had two days off work, guilt-free watching Home and Away and Neighbours in the day, and being waited on hand and foot.

 

Nancy, on the other hand, has a fun day playing, tea and a bath, nods off after a bottle of milk, and then is woken a couple of hours later by the most excruciating pain.

And no explanation.

She’s got six teeth all coming through at the same time.

I think I would prefer to be headbutted.

And the worst thing is, there’s nothing I can do for her other than give her Calpol and a cuddle.

Actually, that’s not the worst thing.

The worst thing is still being up with her at 5am in the morning, having done the sleeping tag team with Ben every hour since 11pm, and then realising that there’s only two potential hours of sleep left until I need to get up for work.

But it’s not just the pain of the teeth; it’s the puking that comes with it.

I didn’t know that the teething could make you sick as well. Well, to be honest, I’m not all that well informed about most stuff since I stopped reading the baby books at month 2. I rely more on the panic Google search on my phone at 2am these days.

But I don’t remember any of this from being little.

I think your brain must block out the memory, in a similar way to childbirth. Because if we really remembered the actual trauma of having a baby, no-one would ever have another one.

What can be more grim than dribbling in your sleep so much it makes you wake projectile vomiting, and then being dunked in a bath before you’ve had chance to get your bearings.

I know that Nancy understands ball and milk and poo. I just hope she somehow understands, ‘this isn’t forever; life is going to get better and be loads more fun.’

Because until evolution develops the readymade teeth holes, it’s pretty rubbish being a baby with half a mouth full of molars.