The Tooth Hurts

It was bound to happen. I mean, she’s been such a good baby that I knew, eventually, there would be one bad evening. For all the good moods she’s been in and all the laughs and giggles we’ve shared, there had to be a melt down. But here’s the thing… Her “meltdowns” are probably pretty tame compared to other babies. Nevertheless, it was pretty dramatic to me. What am I talking about? I’m talking about the non-fun Finley and I had Wednesday evening.

Momma had to work late at an event, so that left the daddy flying solo. No big deal. A typical night with the daughter. Typical, that is, until she woke up from her nap at her usual 7-ish time. At first things were great. She was making a little noise and I went to pick her up and saw that great big smile she gives me when I’m within eyesight. I picked her up and talked to her a bit as we went to the changing table. She was still a bit sleepy, but responsive. But then after a quick diaper stop, it was more than her pants that had changed…. Her mood took a turn, too.

From what seemed out of nowhere, she gave a little whimpering cry and stuck that little lip out in a pout that said more sadness was on the way. But it wasn’t her typical, “I want something” or “I’m bored with this” cry. It was the cry I’d really only heard once and I didn’t like it then. It was the “I’m in pain” cry.

She had made this little screaming wail a few weeks earlier when she bumped her head in her crib and it was not a sound Heather or I ever wanted to hear again. And now, it was starting up, once more. It’s a cross between a scream and a cry and the more she does it, the more manic she becomes. It’s like she is not only hurt but scared and it’s very difficult to get her to calm down.

The first thing I thought was that maybe I had put her diaper on too tight or had accidentally pinched or scratched her. But as her cries began to drone on, it began to occur to me that she may actually be teething.

We had been noticing more and more drooling, as of late and the extra wetness combined with her age puts her right in the target area for tooth time. Which is a pretty crazy concept if you think about it. It’s one of those life events that happens early so we don’t remember how lousy it is.

I can remember being six or seven and messing around with a loose tooth or two. Twisting and prodding at it because of the curiosity of the pain. Then the moment of yanking it free or having it fall out only to spend the next several weeks rubbing my tongue in the left over flesh gap that remained. But having the teeth actually rise up (or down) out of my gums? I don’t remember. It can’t be too pleasant. Especially when you’re barely six months old.

I imagine it’s not unlike geology in your mouth when all this happens. Toothtonic plates are shifting and grinding, working their way up (or down) through the surface of the gums. Then one little peak peeks its way up like a volcanic eruption and, viola… Mount Cuspid. And if she’s anything like her old man was, she’ll have peaks and valleys like the Alps.

So, Finley’s mouth is the San Andreas Fault and I’m looking for every teething device we own. Some are in the fridge, some are in the freezer and some are who knows where. Then I remember two very important items I overlooked: Baby Orajel and Baby Tylenol.

A quick dab of Orajel on dad’s finger and it was if I had dipped my digit in chocolate. Then a little dose of Tylenol and we were set.

She started to settle down as I held her, but every now and then a few whimpers would find their way to break my heart. Before too long she had drifted off to sleep and I was able to stare at her as she lay in the crib, as if the whole night never happened. I wished it would have been that easy for me!

The whole event lasted less than three hours, with the main crying going for only about thirty minutes. But I was wiped. And like Heather would say when she got home… THIS, is parenthood. It’s not the feeding or the diapers or saying “no” or time outs or groundings or taking the car away. It’s seeing your child in pain and never wanting to see it again. It’s worrying. It’s having that feeling in the pit of your gut that will probably never go away. For me, it will probably mean getting a lifetime supply of TUMS.

But if we’re good parents… and I think we’re on our way… as she gets older and more responsible, that feeling of worry will lessen. It won’t go away. It will never go away. And as I think about it… I’m not sure I ever want it to go away. I’ll have it as long as she’s my daughter. And that’s a price I’ll pay.