15 April 2012


I hate teething.

I really hate teething.

To maintain my reputation for crabbiness, I'll be quick to say it's because of my son keeping us up at night. Or because of the enormous amounts of drool. Or maybe I'll mention the toys he's chewed up. But when it comes down to it, those are all mere secondary inconveniences.

The real reason I hate teething is because I'm Daddy. I'm Daddy and I'm supposed to be able to fix anything. My Princess firmly believes Daddy can fix anything with nothing more than tape. "Daddy fix it." That's me. I've fixed toys, books, boo-boos, the dog, the house - you name it. Just ask my girl.

Yet, here I am. Rocking my son, trying to soothe him. I've tried every home remedy, homeopathic elixir and over the counter pain reliever. When it comes down to it, sharp little knob pushing their way through the flesh of your gums just hurts, no matter what you do. And Daddy can't fix it. He is pretty much inconsolable, and I feel helpless. And Daddy really shouldn't feel helpless.

Princess did some mega-teething and had her two year molars and a mouth full of pearly whites by the time she was one. Little Man is dragging it out a little more. Poor little fella is suffering something awful. Unfortunately, as smart as he is, it's kind of hard to make him understand that the pain and irritation will eventually pass. All he knows is that he hurts. And when he hurts, he waddles on over and stretches out his arms to me and gives me this look of pure trust and pure desperation, and I know full well he expects me to make the pain go away. And all I can do, like every other parent in the world, is rock him and try to soothe him to sleep. And feel like I'm failing my son.

I hate teething.