I would really like this flailing stuff to go. It just isn’t working for me.

It doesn’t happen all the time but, lately — like, yesterday and this morning — it has been happening a lot. Flailing accompanied by whining that quickly becomes crying. And it, well, it sucks. It is just too much.

Now, I am fully aware that I recently mistook the Little Jobber’s molar pain for the end of the world, which sent me spiraling down the tunnel of paranoia. So, I will not assume that he is flailing and whining and crying simply to drive me down that other tunnel, the tunnel of insanity. However. It could seem that way. On first glance. Or second glance, even.

On third glance, it appears that he is frustrated. He knows what he wants, but can’t tell me. Sure, he can walk over to the refrigerator and try to open it. And, I can gather he wants something from there. But, he can’t say, “Mom, I would like to have a piece of cheese and, perhaps, a dried apricot. And while we have the door open, can you please let me see what’s hiding in the back of the crisper? I’ve always wanted to know . . .”

Nope, he can’t say that. And so he becomes frustrated and then things go downhill from there.

Luckily, he bounces back well and the flailing accompanied by whining that quickly becomes crying usually subsides within a minute.

But that minute? I could do without it.


I’m going on the record as absolutely hating this whole teething thing. It rots. And it makes me sad. It is rotten, sad stuff that I would like to do away with now and forever.

Won’t happen, will it?

Didn’t think so.


As you know, Conal’s molars did a number on us last week. I was driven far, far over the edge and my poor little jobber was a crying, screaming mess. This week, things are better. No more day-long scream fests, no more clinging and crying.

At night, however, things have not been so great. Conal’s been waking up a few hours after he goes to bed, somewhat inconsolable. The same thing happens very early in the morning. At least this time I know that the teeth are to blame (no more cold sweats about errant vaccinations) for his screams. But, it doesn’t make them any easier to handle. The whole thing just makes me sad.

I get so very sad when I know Conal is in pain and there is little I can do, other than squeeze some cherry infant Tylenol in his mouth. Can you imagine what I’m going to be like if the kid ever has to (please, please don’t let this ever happen!) go to the hospital? If he, say, breaks a bone? Twists an ankle? Stubs a toe? It won’t be pretty, I can assure you.

Sigh, again.

But! There is exciting (to me) news over at The Happy Runner. I signed up for a challenge. And you are all welcome to join in the fun (fun? I guess you’ll have to judge for yourself whether or not this particular challenge is fun).