I still have not been to bed yet. However, I have noticed a schedule of sorts in teething hell. Hourly, I think.
1. Rebel screams like a freak, rips my hair out, claws and punches me in the face for the first 15 minutes.
2. I put her in the swing with magic cancer sweater as she screams with delight for the next 15.
3. I pin her down on the bed as I shove teething tablets in her mouth, which start foaming up everywhere, as she is spitting them out, snorting them up her nose, and rubbing them in her eyes for the next 15.
4. Half heartedly claws and punches a little more, and falls asleep for the next 15.
REPEAT.
I have just figured out what it means to be a mother. As my daughter violently ripped fists full of my hair out, scratched half my face off, and gave me a black eye, never once did it occur to me to make her stop. I just thought, "I hope this makes her feel better".
Side note: Luckily she was in the swing for magic cancer sweater time, when Willie Nelson, our lovely neighbor, came by to meet me for the first time. I opened the door and he said:
"Hi. Is Steven here?"
"No. But his boss is. How may I help you."
"Listen. I really don't want to be your enemy."
All I could do was smile and nod. Smile and nod. Finally I had to let him know magic cancer sweater time was coming to an end, and it is was time to shove little white foaming pills in my child's mouth while she snorts and gags. Possibly go glue some of my hair back on when she falls asleep.
I'm pretty sure the police are on their way.
1. Rebel screams like a freak, rips my hair out, claws and punches me in the face for the first 15 minutes.
2. I put her in the swing with magic cancer sweater as she screams with delight for the next 15.
3. I pin her down on the bed as I shove teething tablets in her mouth, which start foaming up everywhere, as she is spitting them out, snorting them up her nose, and rubbing them in her eyes for the next 15.
4. Half heartedly claws and punches a little more, and falls asleep for the next 15.
REPEAT.
I have just figured out what it means to be a mother. As my daughter violently ripped fists full of my hair out, scratched half my face off, and gave me a black eye, never once did it occur to me to make her stop. I just thought, "I hope this makes her feel better".
Side note: Luckily she was in the swing for magic cancer sweater time, when Willie Nelson, our lovely neighbor, came by to meet me for the first time. I opened the door and he said:
"Hi. Is Steven here?"
"No. But his boss is. How may I help you."
"Listen. I really don't want to be your enemy."
All I could do was smile and nod. Smile and nod. Finally I had to let him know magic cancer sweater time was coming to an end, and it is was time to shove little white foaming pills in my child's mouth while she snorts and gags. Possibly go glue some of my hair back on when she falls asleep.
I'm pretty sure the police are on their way.
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