My baby is teething. My house is full of cries of pain, and the smell of teething gel and ambusol. I'm having to distract her from constantly putting her fingers in her mouth, and console her cries of "Ow, mummy! It hurts!"
Doesn't my baby have fabulous speech? Well, no, it's Thing One we are discussing here. As one child is growing her milk teeth, another is losing them. Thus the circle of life and all that rot.
Teething as a pre-teen is slightly different from teething as a baby. The whining is increased a thousand-fold for starters. The vocabulary is much the same (Waaahhh, owwwwwwwwwww, huhummmmmmmmmm), but the volume is increased. You still feel just as helpless, but tinged with a slight twitch of the fingers as you think wistfully of the good old days, of a ball of a string and a slamming door.
I have a little tiny *thing* about teeth. I'm okay with almost anything else, can cope with blood, vomit, soiling, exposed tissues and bones, but teeth are just... ugh. And feet. Feet are so gross, I can't touch adult feet. Baby feet are okay, but once you have left primary school, keep those revolting piggies away from me. Teeth at any age are nasty. I don't like teaching the kids to clean them, I made Himself teach them the joys of flossing (my stomach is churning even writing this), and as for wobblies and actual pulling.... Well, pass the smelling salts and leave me to quiver in my corner. Old cartoons, where Jerry hits Tom in the mouth with a frying pan and Tom's teeth shatter like splinters are enough to leave me shaken and in need of a stiff drink. Luckily, both the older two seem to have a strong attachment (heh) to their milk teeth, and haven't lost many yet. Which is why Thing One is teething now, aged eleven, rather than six years ago when she was supposed to do all this.
Why am I telling you all this, Dear Reader? Well, apart from just wanting to expose my inadequacies to the entire Internet, I have to share the nasty thing that Thing One has just forced me to endure.
She has two wobblies, and she keeps whining about the pain and the blood. (Oh, yes, they BLEED when they wobble, folks). She is having trouble brushing the loose ones so needs help (Himself does it. I love you, baby, but please don't ask me to touch your teeth). This afternoon she tried to eat something and the pain was horrific, so she decided enough was enough, and these trouble makers were coming out! Sadly, she can't do it herself so she asked ME to do it. Oh no, no, no, no. I can't. I'm sorry, no.
I was thisclose to piling the whole family in the car and driving to Himself's work to make him look. Only the fact that I wasn't dressed yet stopped me. (It was 4.30pm, don't ask why I wasn't dressed). It took all my courage to even approach her and poke the tooth with a nail. It was only the tears running down her face that made me square my shoulders and get on with it.
I used a tissue so I didn't actually have to touch bare enamel (shudder) and I gave a quick yank. I tell you, I'd rather go through all three labours than do that again. Inflicting pain on purpose, even for her own good and at her request, is horrific. However, amidst a fountain of blood, I got one out. The other remains, because I'm a coward and it isn't actually ready yet - I did give it a tentative push.
She refuses to give it up to the Tooth Fairy, she's keeping it as a souvenir of the time her mother almost had a total squeamish meltdown. Brat.
By the way, what age is this supposed to be done by?? She still has so many to go and then we have Thing Two to go through this too!