Just One Toof?

I think the baby is about to cut a tooth. Either that, or my darling son has been replaced with a faerie changeling child that is bent on destroying my soul and ruining my spine. Jake's out of town today, but Griffin was working him like a mule before he left. Jake has it easy, chopping wood all day and doing heavy manual labor. Back home, Griffin is seriously cracking the whip! Come within ten feet of my baby and he will make you walk him up and down the street for hours and still not be satisfied.

There are toys and kitchen utensils all over my house. Piles of toys and other Griffin-placating paraphernalia (yogurt lids, baby spoons, a whisk, a seashell) litter the floor. I toss out these offerings to the tiny, wrathful ankle-biter scuttling around the rug in the hopes that he won't yell at me or make me walk him again. (Dear God, anything but more hunchbacked babywalking!) No matter how many measuring cups, or plastic keys, or organic cotton chew toys I give him, though, he still manages to find a dime under the rug.

Griffin didn't want to sleep today. His naps were a measly 2.0 on the Richter scale of naps, I barely got the bottles rinsed and ate some hummus. Now that it's (finally) bedtime, I can't work on my master's project or clean the house, all I can do is sprawl on the bed and watch nature shows.

I'll feel totally justified if we just get a tooth soon. One little tooth will make me feel a whole lot better. That will explain G Dawg's shoddy naps and frequent impressions of a heroin addict in the brutal throes of detox. He has several prominent bumps under his gums, so this lends itself more towards the teething theory than the Sid Vicious Reincarnation Theory. Poor boo, Griffin is usually the Best Behaved Baby in the Universe, so we're new to this "parenting is super-hard" bit.

Tomorrow is another day. This too shall pass. Insert inspirational quote here.