Man Teething

Today was one of those holy-fuck-thank-god-we-made-it-through-the-day-in-one-piece kind of days.

Bennett is man teething. If you aren't familiar with the concept, take teething, add a highly vocal, highly dramatic man, and you get the idea.

He is convinced it is a fatal malady that might well take him at any moment, and is bound and determined to scream about it until it actually does.

Imagine the whiny, baby version of Fred Sanford and you are close. I could totally see Bennett grasping his chest and talking about how he could see the light.

We even have a baby easy chair...

Meanwhile, I have my ever present friend, the post-accident whiplash headache. Any idea what a screaming baby does for a tension headache?

Imagine a frog, in a blender, on the highest setting. Now replace that frog with your brain. And add a few rocks. And whack the shit out of that bastard with a baseball bat like a piƱata for good measure.

That's close.

And not to be outdone, Sterling decided to use the afternoon as an opportunity to antagonize the two of us, snagging Bennett's bottle whenever it looked like he was really enjoying it (or was quiet for 3 seconds). Toppling his block towers. Screeching in those few moments when he wasn't. Wiping boogers down the legs of my pants.

Generally endearing herself to both of us.

Yeah, it was a beautiful, beautiful afternoon.

Which is why, when I finally tucked their hineys into bed, it was the single most amazing feeling in the world.

I swear, I heard trumpets *quietly* heralding, like I deserved a medal.

Or at least the largest, most salty margarita in the history of mankind. But the fun thing about the medication for the second kind of headaches from my accident (yep, there are multiple)?

I can't drink on it.

Nope, that's not a joke, I'm dead serious.

Two small kids, husband travels full time, constant headaches, and I can't drink.

So instead I am writing a blog post and then I am going to go downstairs to clean my kitchen. That's almost as nice.


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