Nothing says, "I'm teething, Momma," like coming around the corner to find your 10-month-old laying on the floor, face down, with his mouth around a giant dog bone.
Not surprisingly, it was the dog that came to tell me "Timmy's stuck in the well" which is all she ever learned from her Lassie Correspondence Course. Thanks for nothin'. Our dog did her best to lead me to the baby; I followed after I finished putting away the load of Husband's socks and diapers. Ha. Uh, baby diapers, not husband diapers. Ha.
So, I shoved the last diaper in the drawer and followed the dog, who by this point was all but miming that Timmy needed CPR- it's funny how with the first kiddo I would've dropped everything to see what the dog was trying to tell me, with the second I've figured out the dog is a bit melodramatic. I think we'd better stop having kids lest I leave child-rearing to the dog completely.
And that's when I heard the sound of 10 000 carpenter ants chewing on pretzels and sand. Or, the sound of my 10-month-old gnawing on a dog bone. It's a real bone, made from cow thigh that previously held bacon flavoured marrow. It is that second that I realize how foolish it was to think my son will be satisfied with frozen washcloths and chewing the finish off his crib rails like a normal baby.
He began his pursuit of pearly whites at the tender age of 3 months. He broke his two centre bottom teeth at 4 1/2 months-- a full month before his sister had cut her first tooth. But that's where we've been since. He's had the toothy bulbs all along, with their whiteness mostly visible beneath the surface. He'd drool, but no tooth. He'd have diarrhea and a rash on his bum (a family teething trait), but no tooth.
All we got were buckets and buckets of slime. He left a trail of clear snot and drool wherever he'd crawl. Picking him up was a lot like catching a pig at a rodeo; he was slippery and squirmy and the closer you got to catching him, the more hilarious he thought this was. Once you had him, you would instantly feel uncomfortably moist. Pulling him off your chest would create a weird Velcro-suction sound that I imagine would only ever happen again were I to remove Spongebob Squarepants from a tender embrace.
For five months I literally risked life and limb to see what his teeth were doing, and for five months, he would squirm away and then snap at me like Old Man Snapping Turtle. I swear he even hissed once. I have all these little white lines on my finger nails from where he'd bite down with his bottom teeth before I got out in time.
If my fingers were Indiana Jones, there would have been a 5 minute first movie before Indiana was squashed by the giant rolling ball that was Kiddo #2's teeth. No need for the two sequels or even to finish the first movie. RIP Indiana Index Finger.
But then I heard it-- the sound of top teeth gnawing on that bone, and I knew the long awaited day had finally come. No more purée for this lad-- 4 teeth means Baby's First Calamari. Yes, it's rather Spartan of us, but I feel if a kiddo is gonna have to chew his way through some of the trans fats and fast food out there, he might as well start out with calamari in his own home.
So, I pulled the Sid the Squid out of our fish tank.
We weren't going to name him, lest we get too attached, but we got him 5 months ago figuring Kiddo #2 would be quicker about the teething. And, well, I dare you to look into that big fishy eye and NOT fall in love. Anyway, Kiddo#1 wanted to name him Fluffy, Husband liked Petey and I, being the voice of reason, said that Kiddo #2 should to the honors since it's his and all. He sat up tall, stretched for the squid, squealed and that's how Sid got his name.
We watched Sid "wrestle" with our other fish. We watched Gozilla vs. Squidman afterwards to really put Sid's capabilities in perspective. We then moved the tank away from the radiation of the microwave, just in case.
Sid came along to Kiddo #1's graduation from nursery school. Sid taught Kiddo #1 how to jump rope using one of his own long arms. Sid and Kiddo #2 had slime contests: which one could blow the biggest bubble with their respective secretions and which one could create the biggest splash marks on the wall. The pock marks left from his sharp tentacles will heal; these memories will last forever. It was really sweet.
Sweet, sweet, Sid-herazade even told us this long story that started on the day we got him and just seem to continue night after night. It was so cool! Saved me from having to read a bedtime story to the kiddos, and sometimes the stories were so enthralling we'd stay up until all hours of the night listening.
It wasn't until I realized one of the stories was a lot like Disney's Aladdin that it was clear he was just watching movies on Netflix and minorly changing character names to keep us listening. But it's not as if a cephalopod could have such a complex thought as maybe we wouldn't eat him if he were as beloved as our dog (who can barely tell us when the kids are in trouble, let alone a complex series of stories). So, I went back to listening to his marvelous fiction.
And, as he lay flopping on the cutting board, I felt bad that our squid, our inky friend, Sid, was going into the boiling water just so we can teach our teething son how to use his newly acquired teeth. But, the seafood pho I made tonight was awesome. And we still have Netflix.
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