Teething Tantrums & 4 Hour Bed Time

March 14, 2017

Teething is absolutely shit. There are no two ways about it.

Last week was the hardest parenting week of my life. It was even harder than the week we all had a funny stomach and all three of us were taking turns to vom all over ourselves.
I actually thought being a parent had its ups and downs before he got teeth. Ha! I’d take them days back in a flash.
O got his bottom teeth a month ago, and we had no idea they had even come through properly until he innocently bit my finger and I nearly screamed my own face off. He was a teething professional in our eyes, and we just knew we would get through his first couple of years breezing on by, as opposed to the cyclone of all storms we had coming our way.
Last week, nothing would make him happy. He started spitting his food all over himself, he spat his drinks out, he didn’t want to be put down, he didn’t want to be picked up, he didn’t want his bum changed and GOD forbid we would ever prise him away from a plug socket or take bits of fluff off him that he’d found on the floor. He particularly didn’t like his clothes changed, he was throwing things and actually threw proper toddler tantrums on the floor before we would cave and pick him up for a cuddle (this, again, was usually followed by us taking something off him that he shouldn’t have).
He hadn’t quite mastered the tantrum throwing though, and he kept nutting our laminate floor when he would throw himself down and make himself even more upset.
At one point, the screaming became so much that I actually had to take myself off to cry. There is only so much upset you can take, and when you try everything over the course of a whole week (including calpol, ibuprofen, teething gel, cold teethers and cuddles), you begin to feel pretty useless and like nothing you do will help.
But alas! I spent all day Monday with him on my own, and although I dreaded it massively, he would let me change him, he ate like he’d never ate before, he wanted to be cuddled and he even wanted kisses. There certainly wasn’t any unneccessary screaming, and he just wanted to play. When checking his gums after discovering blood on my mothers top, they had actually broke the gum.
Fucking Hallelujah!
Of course, all was not as it seemed. Monday night came around, and Anthony started to prepare O’s bottle for his bedtime. He hadn’t napped all day so we were certain he would go to sleep at 6pm as he has done for the past month.
Unbeknown to us, we had four hours of extra playing, rocking, practicing to walk, catch up episodes of Little Roy, screaming, crying and shouting ahead of us.
My other (better) half, who is normally the most calm and collected out of the two of us, and the most laid back person I have ever met, looked absolutely horrified and was probably the most stressed I have ever seen him. When I took over the cuddles at 11pm, O fell straight to sleep, which I will admit, was a kick in the balls for him, but an absolute success for me.
O never falls asleep cuddling me anymore, so I savoured every second of it and silently forgave him for making me miss Broadchurch.
Looking after teething children is harder than I imagine doing brain surgery is when you only have a game of operation as experience. If you have a baby who has not had teething pains yet, please don’t take it for granted and be as wishful as we were. You have a shit storm coming your way

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