Most of the time I think that it will be wonderful when Nathan learns to talk. Imagine the words that will come forth! He’ll express his undying love for us, his parents, thank us for taking care of his feet, and talk about how much he enjoys playing with his toys.
Yesterday, though, it occured to me that if Nathan could talk, what I might have heard at that moment was something like this:
“Hey, what are you doing? What’s wrong with you? I don’t want to be lying down. Help! Police!! I can’t breathe! He’s choking me with this onesie. Oh my God, someone save me. I’m DYING IN HERE! AAAAAIIIIIIIIGGGGGHHHHH”
Yeah, so maybe I can wait a bit after all.
Teething is not fun. Not for Nathan, not for Nathan's parents.
Last night, after he kept waking up crying (closer to screaming) every 20 minutes, I finally just got up with him at about 2:30 AM and held him in the rocking chair in his room. Where he continued to wake every 20-30 minutes, but at least this way, one of us could sleep. The first dose of tylenol at 11:30 the night before didn't seem to have much effect, but the dose at 5:45 AM turned him into wide-awake cheerful boy in about three minutes.
I am less awake, and less cheerful. But I'm glad he's feeling better.
Also, I swear he recognized the bottle of tylenol and was reaching for it. Considering this was the fourth time in his life he had had tylenol, this is somewhat amazing.
I'm sure there's some coffee around here somewhere ...