The Five-Toothed Octobaby.

Oie! Oie!

How I morn for the days of Noey past when he was not yet mobile, not yet teething and much, much less active.

I have not done a lot of things lately--fold laundry, call my sister and dear friend in Virginia, pet the cats, push back my cuticles, read and comment on my fellow favorite bloggers blogs. Why? Because gone are the days of infant sensory slumber and here are the days of the finger feasts of burgeoning toddlerhood.

The eighth month for Noah has seen many exciting new developments. Teeth numbers 4 and 5 are making their way through the soft puffy pink of the middle top gum . . . and not far behind are the gleaming pearly white of the two "i teeth" right next door (teeth 6 and 7!), for example. But, among those that are keeping my head spinning are his new ability to crawl and his insatiable curiosity.

Move over "Octomom"--meet OctoNoey. On most days it feels more like I birthed an octopus rather than a baby. The speed and ferocity of his arms and little clammy hands reaching and grasping for anything and everything within eye shot is simply exhausting. And, every morning that he wakes his crawl has gained speed and purpose somehow over night.

He slides without stumble across the living room floor over to the coffee table to teethe on the mini record coasters that I got Dean for a birthday years ago . . . and he glides into the kitchen without pause to heave the small colorful ceramic flowerpots on the bottom shelf of the island containing our garlic and shallots across the floor.

. . . and, he's not even walking yet.

Oie! Oie!

But, he's so, so, so darn much fun. And really quite ravishingly handsome too.

Teething Sucks.

Harsh title for harsh times, my friends. I have wanted to post something deliciously bobby all week in honor of National Breastfeeding Awareness Week and as you can plainly see, I have not. While my "Little Foodie Feasts" endeavor has usurped a bit of my clock, my teething infant has been the primary culprit for my lack of lactation activism.

Oie! Oie, is all I can say. Last night was the worst night by far, since the day he was born. He was up at 1:30 a.m. crying--I mean really miserably crying--and cried more on than off until 4:30 a.m. Then, he was up again at 7:30 a.m. crying . . . well, you get the picture.

Nothing, nothing I say, makes him feel better. I have bagged my homeopathic potions with this set of chompers and have resorted to the high fructose corn syrup laden children's Tylenol. And while it does offer him some relief, it has not helped as much as I had hoped it would. We have tried among many other things, frosty carrots, chilled teething toys, gum massages, all to no avail. Walks and crawling practice brings the only relief, though temporary--we're talking 5 minutes temporary.

As I mentioned in my post on Wednesday, he did get a tooth this week--his third tooth! But, there must, must be another if not more finding its painstaking way to the puffy pink surface. But by golly, I hope it/they come soon. We're going crazy here. And, poor Noah. Oh, poor Noah.

And, thanks to all of you for your sweet supportive comments in response to third-tooth-Wednesday's post . . . it really helps to know that we're not in teething hell alone.

Sincerely,
Sleepless In Salivaland

By Golly, We're On Tooth Number 3!

Noah has been an incredible little guy lately. Ever since his second tooth popped up right after the first a few months ago, he has been so much fun to be with. He has been smiling, laughing, crawling, rolling, scooting and talking the days away with great virtuosity.

Then, two mornings ago--at nearly 7.5 months old--he woke with a familiar host of symptoms--the teething monster had returned. Last time he was incredibly whiny, extremely slobbery, and had two large red rashes on his little cheeks. This time has been a little different . . . he's not slobbering as much but is a little fussier--even crying quite hard at times (which he doesn't really do anymore), isn't eating solids with great eagerness, and is running a low grade fever (about 99 degrees give or take a bit) off and on.

He definitely is not his usual self--that familiar bright-eyed twinkle is missing from his big baby blues and he is missing that pep in his crawling step. My heart aches for him--I hate to see him in such pain. I know that teething is part and parcel of this whole growing up thing, but it somehow just doesn't seem very fair.

Dean noticed the top of his right eyetooth peeking through the gum this morning. So, it's here . . . but there has been no relief. Is it possible that he's getting a top tooth at the same time? We can only hope that there is some big reward at the end of all of this suffering. Two teeth for the price of one would be nice.

Eureka! We've Struck Gold . . . Again!

Enameled gold again, means another milestone achieved! Just as I suspected last week . . . Noah Finn has sprouted his second pearly white on the bottom just beside his only other neighbor! Yay! We spotted it this Saturday and it has only made it's way higher and higher above the puffy pink gums since. Maybe we'll get a brief reprieve from teething? Maybe. I'm crossing my fingers . . .

Mommy Zombie.

I haven't had as much zest this week, as much zing, as much umpfh as I usually do--I've really been somewhat of a mommy zombie.

Probable culprits are Noah's erupting 2nd tooth and Dean's intense schedule this week. He's in the studio working on a deadlined project--clocking 12-18 hour days--really just coming home to sleep before returning to the studio. That means 24 hour a day baby duty for mom--rise with the wee munchkin and set with the wee munchkin and everything in between with the wee munchkin (that means nightlong suckling, too). Between that and bouts of cranky crabby pants due to teething tribulations, Noah has been a tough customer to please and mommy has been operating on little sleep, few showers and thin patients. Point in short, I don't know how single mothers do it. I give them props, mad props.

However, I am not so much of a mommy-downer that I can't admit it hasn't been entirely all glum and grumps . . . there have been quite a few moments of giggles and goos and an incredibly overdo visit from the giddy newlyweds-to-be, Eddie Jo & Annie. Extra congrats to Eddie who is headed to Notre Dame to seek a MFA five days after his honeymoon! That's right, they have to get married, honey the moon in Europe and move to Indiana all in a month and half--that's right a little over 6 weeks. Crazy, yes . . . crazy in love!

And, happiness lies ahead for us, too, as we have a 3-day weekend off with dad shining like a beacon of hope ahead of us. Though it's already over scheduled with places to be and people to see, it will just be nice to have an extra set of arms to do some holding, hands to do some diaper changing and patients to do some consoling.

And, because dad at home means gourmet meals for mom, it also means no more of these . . . at least for the 3-day weekend.

Eureka! We've Struck Gold!

Enameled gold, that is! Like early west-heading proprietors excitedly seeking that sparkly stuff among riverbed rocks, new parents yearn longingly for the eruption of baby's first tooth--hoping that the months of excruciating pain for both them and their wee tot will, if only temporarily, subside.

Noah has been teething since he was three months old and for the most part--aside from the rosy red cheek rashes, sleepless nights and more drool than a St. Bernard--teething has been tolerable. That is, until the last three weeks. Dean and I were beginning to seriously consider taking our cradle crab to a baby behavioral specialist (Is there even such a thing? There should be!). We were convinced that the non-stop whining, clinginess and downright 24 hour dissatisfaction was due to either something we did or didn't do to/or for him during his very short 5.5 months here on earth . . . or we were cursed with a baby that would grow into a tot who'd get us thrown out of every restaurant, movie theater and theme park until his 18th birthday.

That is until this morning. While groggily chewing on Dean's fingers in the wee hours of the early morn--his favorite first thing to do in the morning after I pry him from my boob--Dean felt a razor sharp edge. After attempting to peer in the busy wet mouth for next to half an hour, we finally spotted in gleaming white, peeking out from beneath the soft pinkness of swollen gums . . . Noah's first tooth . . . and the reason we almost committed our little cherub to a cell with padded walls.

Cursed teeth . . . 1 down and 19 more to go. Why can't they just come already "attached" when born? Like fingers and toes?

Dean Slept On The Couch Last Night.

. . . not because he was in the doghouse, though--I slept there with him.

Noah's version of sleeping for the large part since he was born is, well, really not sleeping. He's never been a champion snoozer and with the addition of all of these fantastically exciting new skills he is picking up on a daily basis compounded with a furious case of the teething blues, he has turned into an downright insomniac.

So, after he finally went down for the seven-hundred-and-seventieth time last night, we hunkered down on our oversized craig's list couch at midnight and decided to call it our head's home for as long as he slept . . . so as not to wake him when we finally crawled into bed.

Sound crazy? Maybe. Yes, even! But . . . he slept for a delicious two hours! And we were ecstatic.