I really don’t know who suffered more yesterday. Things were off schedule from the get-go, with Andrew waking onhis own at 6:00 ready to party whereas he usually sleeps until I wake him to get ready (6:40). Left undisturbed he’ll usually sleep until at least 7:30. Mr. Aggie already planned to get up before I left at 6:45, but he wasn’t prepared to be on baby duty that early. He’s not exactly at his best first thing in the a.m. For example, I often worry that he’ll go to work with his zipper at half-mast since I’m not home to check for him.
To make a tediously long story marginally shorter, Andrew didn’t nap well and didn’t eat well, either. We are attributing this to Mr. Aggie’s inexperience and his being ill-equipped (lacking the magic of le boob), as well as dente numero dos, primed to make an appearance any day. It’s glimmering beneath the skin, exhibiting an evil twin personality that’s making Andrew much crabbier than the first tooth did. He still won’t accept any forms of pain relief or management, save for human fingers or grape Tylenol. If I try to give him anything– frozen teething ring, chilled washcloth, vodka sour–he recoils in horror, and wails at me as if to say “WHY ARE YOU TRYING TO KIIIIIIILL ME?!”
On the upside, after what he called “the longest eight hours of [his] life”, Mr. Aggie vowed (unprovoked) to leave work on time or early every day this summer while I’ll be a SAHM. I’m still apprehensive about those ten weeks, but I know I’ll have help from my mom once a week and I can always take him to daycare occasionally so he can spend time with a professional who actually knows what she’s doing.