A mouthful of sleepless nights

Picture something that has a lot of teeth.

Maybe



or



You might imagine



or



How about a baby with a mouth full of teeth? Ever heard of that?

My son started teething at three months old and got his first two teeth before four months. By the time he was a year old, he had 10 teeth, including at least one molar. My mother insists it's a sign of intelligence. (But she also said that about my brother, who took his sweet time getting his bachelor's degree to graduate at age 31 and still doesn't have a job a year later.)

Because my boy's teeth came in so fast, there was no way I could relate any of his regular fussiness or growing-baby symptoms to cutting a new tooth. Because there was always a new tooth. Teething was the norm.

When I tell people my child won't sleep or eat or is pooping a lot -- the bold excitement that has ruled my life this week -- they suggest he's teething. And I have to consider that, because as strange as it sounds, I'm kind of clueless about teething. My son knows all about it, of course, but as the mom I've just chalked it all up to general obstinate toddler crankiness.

The past couple of nights when the Man-cub has woken up wailing, I helped him go back to sleep only to have him wake up a half-hour later. Too tired myself to put up with a sleepless child the first night, I lay down with him on the floor of his room -- and he was almost instantly asleep.

Last night, I skipped the floor (you're welcome, hips) and took him straight to my bed after giving him a dose of Infant Morphine Motrin. He did end up with his feet on my husband's head, but I say little toe imprints on your face for your morning meeting are a small price to pay for a night's rest.

Who knows how tonight will go, but I have to remind myself to try to count my son's teeth. I stopped checking after 14.