All right parents, I share this next story with you in the hopes that I’m not the only parent who’s felt this way. What am I saying, of course other parents felt this way, otherwise there wouldn’t be a Lifetime Movie Channel. Anywho, I digress; onto my tale of woe.
So that’s what you mean by “Teething.”
On a side note, I’d like to say that before I was a parent, when parents would tell me their baby was teething, I was like
I had no concept of the soul-crushing depths of despair that teething could take you to. Now, when I hear a parent say they have a teething baby, I’m like
If I could, I would give that teething child’s parent a care package of weed and alcohol. It’s amazing how having a child changes one’s perspective.
It was a particularly stressful time; Work was super stressful and Action was teething. It was her back Molars. The. Worst. Teeth. EVER. I get home from a long day at work. I’m tired and frustrated. Action is already at 100. I take one look at the Missus’ face and know that I’m already on duty. Crap. I go upstairs to get dressed for battle. You can hear Action screaming from upstairs. you would’ve thought somebody was trying to kill her the way she was screaming Bloody murder. I go downstairs expecting to see a crime scene. Instead I see a very frustrated Missus struggling to put Action in her High Chair. Ugh. It was at this moment when I understood why the phrase “Stop that crying before I give you something to cry about!” was such a popular phrase of parents when I was growing up.
Now it’s dinner time, aka: Round 2.
We’re trying to get this kid to eat something, anything, so she won’t wake up crying in the middle of the night because she’s hungry. Everything we put in front of Action she would not eat it. To make matters worse, instead of just making a face and pushing the plate away, she would deliberately smash her plate down on the ground, like she was celebrating at a Greek wedding. I mean everything. fruits, vegetable, chicken, rice, French Fries. She was just
Being that I don’t like to waste food, watching Action shot put her food across the room was infuriating to me. I had to sit down to compose myself. That’s when the Missus shouted, “Watch out for the vomit on the floor!!”
Oh, did I forget to mention the vomit? When she did actually eat, Action would stuff her face to the point where she would end up throwing up. I’m not talking about a little spit up, I’m talking about Mini-Exorcist piles of vomit on he floor. Action had already hurled four times before I got home. Armed with this new found knowledge, I immediately tried to regulate how much food Action was putting in her mouth, which she was eating off the floor mind you. Of course the kid fought me Mightily on this, (think “Carpet Cuisine”) to the point where the Missus shouted, “Just let her have it!” So I did. I watched, stone-faced as Action stuffed her cheeks like a little Chipmunk and walked away. When she left, I began the countdown: 5…4…3…2…
When I heard Action projectile vomit, I calmly stood up and said
“Quit what?” Asked the Missus? “Life.” I replied, “I quit life. I’m done.”
“Boy, you can’t quit life, and you definitely ain’t quitting this life.” she countered. “We’re in this battle together.” I thought the word Battle was a great word choice as Action is proving to be my greatest Joy and my greatest Nemesis all in one pint-sized terror package.
The Missus took Action upstairs to get her ready for bed, leaving me to cleanup the mess. I closed my eyes and sighed that “What the F*** have I gotten myself into?!?!” sigh and stood up. Oh goody, I just found one of Action’s vomit piles as I’ve just stepped in it.
FML. Maybe I should send myself one of those care packages I was talking about.