Um, hi. Yeah, so, I guess before I climbed atop the roof and decided to shout about the something wicked that this way comes, I should have stuck my finger in Conal’s mouth.

No, not his throat. That would have been gross and he would have puked and we would have started that whole pukey-pukiness cycle all over again.

His mouth. I should have put my finger in his mouth — the back of his mouth, to be more precise. You know, where the molars are? The molars that have been threatening to pop through for about a month? The molars that I completely forgot about with all of my other distractions? The molars that actually did pop through at some point? Some point when I wasn’t paying attention to them so I can’t really say when they really made an appearance?

Yeah, those.

See, if I had put my finger in Conal’s mouth, I might have been able to feel the teeth. But — ha, ha, ha! — I didn’t do that. I was letting my whole Nellie/Annie/Pattie sides run wild. They kinda blinded me.

Sure, there is still the Paranoid Pattie part of me that is worried and will probably be that way for a good, I don’t know, 18 or so years. But, at least Anxious Annie and Nervous Nellie have quieted down.

And now I can feel relieved that Conal’s weird behavior — you know, the behavior that I completely mishandled — has been because those molars have been breaking through his gums. That can’t feel good. That must make a little guy want to scream and shake his head and claw at his face. And generally freak out.

Yes. You are right. The signs were all there. I missed them. All of Conal’s crying and screaming combined with my paranoia pushed me over the edge, which meant I could no longer see signs of any sort from where I was standing.

I was out-of-touch. Just what we all strive not to be.

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