Greetings from the house of pain. By the time this kid gets an actual tooth, she's going to be a vampire. Seriously, this is going to kill us both. Tonight she was crying so hard she puked. It took Orajel, Motrin, pacifier, and several verses of "The Lion Sleeps Tonight" before she would even think about stopping the crying, and she would not fall asleep unless I held her. After she was finally out for about ten minutes, and I felt reasonably certain that all systems were functioning on the autonomic level, I set her in the crib. There was a brief twitch when I clicked the rail into place. I wish I could find a way to muffle that sound, because when it wakes her up, it's back to the beginning for the settling-down routine.
Thirteen months. Yesterday was her thirteen-month mark. We have a weight check at the pediatrician next Wednesday. If she doesn't have a tooth by then, it's going to be mildly embarassing. I'll tell the doc it's karma: she didn't want to come out either; we finally had to go in and get her when she was two weeks past her due date. But there's no such thing as a C-section for stubborn baby teeth. Poor kiddo. At least I'm allowed to soothe myself with vodka.
Serendipitously, I was at the dentist today. I went two weeks ago for the first time in, oh, too long. Drilling was necessary. So when I got home with novocaine-face, I guess I figured I'd be the one spending the evening dealing with twinges in the gums.
She's still asleep. And now for that vodka...