So I Let Them Play with Plastic and Metal

The girls are teething. Really, really teething.

With the bottom two teeth, Althea suffered badly while Elise hardly complained. As you might have guessed, Althea’s hardly bothered while Elise is a VERY miserable little baby. She purses her lips together in a way that makes it look like she has a mouthful of braces. She moans and moans and moans. She cries. She clings. She wants to nurse, then pushes me away. She wakes up several times a night.

It’s a freaking nightmare.

It’s been getting rough. This past week, I was home most all of the week, even taking care of three babies for a few days. I barely managed to shower, let alone get anything else done (well, except get busted cheating on my husband with a gnarly-looking handyman).

Cabin fever started to set in. Add to that the cries and whimpers and pain of teething, and you can just imagine the thoughts that ran through my mind. Shall I pluck my pubic hairs out, one by one, with splintered chop sticks? Or perhaps pierce my eyeballs with rusted corn-cob holders? Oh, I know! I’ll brush my teeth with some Ajax and floss with barbed wire!

One day, I was very very very close to LOSING MY SHIT. I generally stay pretty chipper and humorous with the girls, even when they’re both crying. But man, this was tugging on my last nerve.

So I went old school. I plopped the girls in the middle of the kitchen floor with some water-filled Tupperware and measuring spoons.

All day long, hugging and singing and playing and distracting, to no avail. But some measuring spoons and plastic containers? They were quiet and happy as pigs in shit for 40 minutes, until we had to tear them away for bath time. Go figure.