I need to start this post by saying that we are having a particularly nasty time with teething this time around. Elijah and I have not slept well for over a week and a half. The first few nights I thought he was growth spurting or cold or just plain old spoiled because he still abjectly refuses pacifiers in favor of his beloved boob.
Over the last few days, however, he is just impossible unless he’s at the breast. He will not nap AT ALL during the day, he’s fussing and drooling and gnawing on anything and everything, he’s up hourly during the night, and I HAVE HAD IT. Every day I’m sticking my fingers in his mouth all the time hoping that by some miracle the dag teeth have finally broken through on the bottom. No luck. And so until then I’m in my pajamas around the clock. When our boy will tolerate to be bounced by Daddy or a short playtime with a light-up toy I do one of three things: shovel food down my face at lightning speed, use the bathroom, or in extreme cases take a shower and replace my sweaty, puked-on pajamas from yesterday with fresh ones. Screamy meltdowns usually ensue, big sister is disturbed at naptime or bedtime when she is not being tended to by my good buddies Dora and Diego. I cannot count the millions of times I have tried to carefully put a peacefully sleeping baby down only to have his eyes pop open and big cartoon tears pour down his cheeks. You would not believe the emergency bathroom runs he has wept through when I could finally hold my bladder no more.
The house is a complete tornado. Laundry baskets from last week sit neglected on my bedroom floor. I made a Genius Bar appointment because my computer is fritzing out and immediately forgot and missed it (and who even knows where my planner has gone? Again?).
Dude. I feel like we have a newborn all over again. This is not the sort of “excellence in mothering” I have in mind.