Friday, October 3, 2014

plenty of practice

Holy. Molars.

Who, me?

Pretty sure that's the reason Caleb screamed his head off for two hours this afternoon, while I fumbled around trying to find something, anything (TYLENOL! TEETHING BEADS! ICE CHIPS! MY FINGER WRAPPED IN THIS BLANKET!), that might comfort or calm him.

Also, every single diaper today was a poop explosion, leaving him with a very sore, very chapped bum. Cue howls of pain with every wipe. (Of which there were many. See: "poop explosion".)

Also, he figured out how to take his own pants off. He did it in his crib this morning, then again while he was playing a little bit later (and by "playing" I mean methodically throwing our shoes off the shoe rack, followed by an attempt to empty the garbage piece by piece). Hence, he is currently sleeping pants-less. (Yes, sleeping. FINALLY. HOLY MOTHER OF GOD. And I mean that in earnest, as I prayed dramatically for intercession during Molarmageddon. I'm not sure she heard me over the screaming, though.)

Also, he held my hands and walked across the entire dining room after lunch. Major developmental milestone for the month: Check! So of course there's got to be some crazy mental processing going on in his little baby brain, along with the torturous physical pain happening elsewhere in his little baby body.

I've been so lovey dovey lately with this "motherhood as a vocation" thing (which I still absolutely mean) and talk of The Little Way (which I still absolutely admire and subscribe to) that it was about time the universe threw me a good curveball. Isn't there a saying about teaching what you most need to learn? Today has given me plenty of opportunities to put my words into action. Our neighbors probably think I'm forcing Caleb's hands on the stove or something. Nope, just poop! And teeth. And learning to walk. (It's hard work being a baby. And the mom of a baby. We both might've been crying at one point. It happens.)

I'm not sure if practice makes perfect, but you know what? I'm actually finding myself pretty dang grateful for it, and that's something.

(Although, full disclosure, if a band of gypsies happens to come by looking for an almost-toddler, I'm pretty sure I know where they can find one. At least on loan. And only if they wake him up ;))

OK, fine, never mind. We'll keep you. Ohhh, Cabey Baby! I do love you so.