The slow descent.

Oh, this babe.

I’ve been asked a lot if Bennett is teething.  The way I see it, until he’s got a mouth full of teeth, I’m gonna assume he’s teething at all times.

This assumption allows me the right to blame any and all meltdowns on the misery of gum discomfort.

Take Sunday for instance.  Once ol’ Benny Boo was good and strapped in the evil straps the car seat, he seemed to forget all of the colorful distractions that I had provided for him.  Attached in a variety of directions, he chose to ignore the two mirrors, the jiggity frog, the multi-functional ball with a peek-a-boo bear, a peek-a-boo fish, a peek-a-boo baby face, another tiny mirror, a crinkly flap… you get the picture.

The tears commenced.  Oh how I wished that I could be in two places at once, both comforting my baby and keeping the van from crashing down the interstate!  Alas, lacking the ability to be omnipresent, I was surrounded by the woeful sounds of despair, my baby convinced of the fact that I had betrayed him.

It’s excruciating.  Every second feels like a slow descent into Sheol, a trip filled with regret and angst.

I can hardly take this!  My poor baby! I ached from my soul.

I checked the clock to see how long he had been crying, how long I had been hanging in there, being so brave and so strong.

Exactly one minute.  One.  Minute.

He cried for a total of five.  I don’t look forward to my sweetie pie losing his perfectly gummy smile.  At least, I don’t think I do. Who wants to bet that when he gets his first tooth, I’ll think it’s the sweetest, most amazing, impressive first tooth there ever was?