The Girl is usually the stoic one. She inherited my repressed-WASP temperament, among other things, and she’s lower maintenance by far than The Boy ever was.
Mostly.
For the last few weeks, though, she’s been much fussier than usual, and hitting some pretty high notes. The diva fits have been mighty. We couldn’t figure it out until The Wife noticed something yesterday.
The Girl is getting eight – yes, eight – teeth at the same time!
I’d be cranky, too. Can you imagine?
That just ain’t right. This has to be some sort of record. She’s got a bed of nails in her gums, poor kid.
The good news is that once they’re in, she should be home free for a while. The bad news is, it’s eight teeth.
We’re normally not big fans of the pacifier, but sheesh. There is such a thing as force majeure. In her shoes, I’d demand rum.
This stage ends, right?
